LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



d^aju- itqojri^ft f tu 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



YESTERDAYS WITH ACTORS. 



YESTERDAYS WITH ACTORS 



CATHERINE MARY REIGNOLDS-WINSLOW 




BOSTON 
CUPPLES AND COMPANY 




Copyright, 1SS6, by 
b Mary Reignolds-Winslow. 



All Rights Reserved. 



The Hyde Park Press. 



YESTERDAYS WITH ACTORS 



CATHERINE MART REIGN OLDS-WINSLOW 



lo MAY23 m7f t 



BOSTON 
CUPPLES AND HURD 

94 Boylston Street 






ft* 



Copyright, 1SS6, by 
Catherine Mary Reignolds-Winslow. 



All Rights Reserved. 



The Hyde Park Press. 



To Helen Morton, M.D., 

Good Physician, Faithful Friend, True Woman ; 

to whose 

Skill, Constancy, and Courage, 

I owe 

Health, Hope, and Inspiration ; 

these Memories are affectionately inscribed. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Introduction . vii 

i. Charlotte Cushman 17 

2. Edwin Forrest 29 

3. John Brougham 45 

4. Laura Keene — Agnes Robertson ... 62 

5. E. A. Sothern 79 

6. Ben. De Bar — Matilda Heron —J. H. 

Hackett — Mrs. John Wood — James 

E. Murdoch — Mrs. Lander . . . 100 

7. Boston Museum 122 

8. Boston Museum, continued 143 

9. Travel in America 162 

10. Canada and England . 184 



l/ 



PHOTO-GRA VURES. 

William Warren frontispiece 

Mrs. Wins low title-page 

Charlotte Cash man 17 

Edwin For?-est 29 

John Brougham . . . 45 

Laura Keene 62 

E. A. Sothern 79 

Matilda Heron 1 08 

VIGNETTES. 

William E. Burton . 62 

Agnes Robertson ......... 64 

J. A. Smith 84 

Mr. Bucks tone 90 

J. H. Hackett 114 

Mrs. John Wood 115 

James E. Murdoch 116 

E. F. Reach 123 

R. M. Field 133 

' Mr. Barrow 135 

Mrs. Barrow - 135 

Kate Bateman 136 

John Wilkes Booth 140 

Mrs. Vincent 143 

Oriana Marshall 155 

Josephine Orton 155 

Annie Clarke 156 

Mme. Anna Bishop 187 



GRATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

IS MADE 

*** To Mr. Frank Hill Smith for his tasteful design 
for the cover of " Yesterdays with Actors," 

*** To Mr. F. P. Vinton, for the kind permission to 
copy his portrait of Mr. Warren. 



JjFN the memories of theatre-goers, a gen- 
ii eration is said to count no more than ten 
^ years, and we are reckoned old folks 
by the public after a comparatively short ser- 
vice. But I was startled to find in a recent 
book of dramatic biography a statement that 
my father was killed at Waterloo ; whereas it 
was my grandfather who died there, when my 
father was eight weeks old. 

This seemed to crowd me rather cruelly into 
an historic period, and the incident has been 
the spur to jot down a few trifling recollec- 
tions that may be of some slight interest to 
those who share them ; before their subjects 
are forgotten, and the writer has become "the 
idle singer of an empty day." 

My earliest remembrance was keeping the 
anniversary of this same grandfather's death ; 
certainly a meaningless attempt at sentiment 
on my part, but a mournful observance on my 
father's, with which my mother early taught 
me to sympathize. 

Major Reignolds came from Germany to 
England in the suite of the Duke of York, 

and, 



and, acting as aide-de-camp to Sir William 
Ponsonby, fell in the battle of Waterloo. The 
portrait of my grandfather, standing by the 
horse that was killed under him on the field, 
was a discipline in my early days — partly, no 
doubt, on account of the reverential manner 
with which I was used to see it treated. But 
the slightly knitted brow, large, deep-set gray 
eyes, and sensitive truthful mouth, were in 
themselves a reproach to me more than once, 
and well do I remember hesitating to make a 
selfish complaint of my sister in the room 
where that stern pleader silently looked down 
upon me. 

I never knew a military man who was not 
more or less of a fatalist, and I have often 
thought of the morning when the note of war 
sounded, and the young husband and father 
answered the roll call for what he might have 
felt to be his last battle. It must have been, 
indeed, " an unaccustomed spirit " that could 
lift him "above the ground with cheerful 
thoughts " at such a moment. 

My grandmother, too, had a premonition of 
woe, and, while looking upon the faces of her 
four little children, she remembered the hap- 
piness of the last few years, only to tremble 
for the future. Her grief at the prospect of 
parting from her husband was so uncontrolla- 
ble, 



ble, it was at last decided that she, with her 
infant and nurse, and some dear friends, 
should travel to Brussels, and there await the 
news from Waterloo. 

Suspense is torture to us all, and what the 
hours were to that poor wife in the little inn 
at Brussels, who can say ? 

The tender hearts about her made the 
most elaborate plans for getting news after 
the fight began, and, early in the day, almost 
before they had dared to hope — it came. The 
first messenger was the last ; he brought all 
the news they waited for. There was no more 
to tell — her hero was dead. Bearing orders 
across the field, he had been one of the first to 
fall! 

Who, among the kind friends telling the 
sad tidings, offering tears and love and sym- 
pathy, could have been prepared for the dry- 
eyed sorrow they encountered, silent and rigid, 
a long and piteous sigh the only sign of life 
from the bereaved one ? 

Long before Lord Tennyson wrote the 
words of " Home they brought her warrior 
dead" was the poem lived over, for, when the 
days went by, still "she neither wept nor 
moved." The old nurse put the fatherless 
baby into her arms, but with no such happy 
result as the poet describes. There came no 

tears 



tears "like summer tempests," no struggle 
for her helpless little children. She moved . 
mechanically, never spoke unless questioned, 
and silently drooped and faded. The pulse 
grew more feeble, the breath less and less, 
until they whispered she was dead, dead of a 
broken heart ! Six weeks after the battle of 
Waterloo she was lying in the same grave 
with her lover-husband at East Cowes, in the 
Isle of Wight, and my father, with his sisters 
and brother, were orphans. 

Under able guardianship these children 
were reared. My aunts had a certain native 
dignity, and, leading the ordinary lives of 
English gentlewomen, they were preserved 
from rough contact with the world. 

My uncle, Colonel Reignolds, must have 
known his share. But he was so entirely 
the soldier that, in despite of sorrows and af- 
flictions that well-nigh crushed the man, he 
rose up at the call of duty, and won honor 
and forgetfulness in the East. 

My father had not his brother's strength, 
and passed from the timid studious lad to 
the reserved and sensitive man, who, while 
he read and wrote several languages, spoke, 
only what he must. Although receiving 
his education at Woolwich, his commission 
offered no all-absorbing interest for the 

younger 



younger son, and, at the same time that he 
did not want courage to face the fire of the 
enemy, he grew coward at the cold greeting 
of a friend, so that, when worldly misfortunes 
fell upon him, he could make no more headway 
under the cruel load of life than the mother 
before him. 

As it became necessary for my mother to 
take up the task of maintaining her children, 
she very naturally profited by the only means 
in her power, an unusually lovely voice ; and 
the pursuit which she then adopted, may, in- 
deed, have been shaped by hereditary in- 
fluence. Her family were not only possessed 
of rare musical and artistic gifts, but traits of 
character less conventional than those of my 
German ancestry. 

When I was in England, my uncle, John 
Absolon, the artist, pointed out in the record 
of the "Issue Roll" of Edward III., the 
name of the first John Absolon, who figures 
there as " King's Minstrel " with a pension 
of "twopence a day," along with Geoffrey 
Chaucer, " King's valet, pension two-pence- 
half-penny." 

My own debut was at the age of four, and 
brought about in the following accidental 
way. On the occasion of a drawing-room 
concert, a carriage was sent for my mother, 

also 



also conveying the tenor singer of the night. 
Not liking a long drive with a stranger, she 
hastily concluded to take her little daughter 
as chaperone. During the evening I was 
handed from lap to lap, and petted by all, as 
a child is in a circle of grown people, when at 
last some one asked if I would sing. I 
promptly responded, " Yes, I know one song." 
Upon the ladies submitting the request to 
my mother, it was at first denied — neverthe- 
less she was at last urged to help me with a 
leading chord, and standing on the top of the 
piano, I twittered out, in pretty fair time and 
tune, " My mother dear." 
" There was a place in childhood that I remember 

well, 
And there a voice of sweetest tone, bright fairy 

tales did tell, 
And kindest words and fond embrace were given 

with joy to me, 
When I was in that happy place upon my mother's 

knee." 
This I addressed, very properly, to the 
audience gathered about me, but in the refrain 
of 

" My mother dear, my mother dear, 

My gentle mother dear," 

I turned from the little group, and, looking 
at my idol, sang to her alone, and, stretching 

across 



across the key-board, ended with my arms 
around her neck. 

By great exertion I was kept for some few 
years at an excellent school near London, until 
my mother was led to come to America. In- 
stead of finding her way easier, no opportu- 
nity presented itself in the career she had 
chosen, and the influence of friends, and pro- 
tection of family at home, were painfully 
missed. There seemed no opening but the 
stage, toward which she had already made a 
half step, to support her children, my sisters 
being seven and nine years of age. 

It was now, in all the sanguine confidence 
of fourteen, possessed by the common youth- 
ful passion for the stage, I demanded my 
right to share the burden. 

So while my mother was playing Cinderella 
in an engagement at Mr. John Rices Thea- 
tre, Chicago, I persuaded her to let me try a 
. small part. 

We all recognize the especial importance 
of a high standard and pure example to those 
just starting in the world, for it is then we 
are most impressionable and likely to take 
color from those set above us. And let me 
here offer a handshake over time and space 
to Mrs. John Rice, and express my very 
grateful remembrance of my first manager, 

his 



his wife and all of his family. I had a watch- 
ful, loving mother by my side," but if ever 
there was an atmosphere where guardianship 
could be dispensed with, it was where Mrs. 
Rice lived her simple, lovely, womanly life, 
true help-meet, true mother, a blessing in her 
own home and an honor to her profession. 
As a man, an actor, a manager, mayor of 
Chicago, and in every other office he ever 
filled, John Rice also proved himself sterling 
metal, and the respect and confidence of his 
fellow-men in every walk of life bore witness 
to it. 

For the sake of encouragement to others, 
let me say that my novitiate was an utter 
failure, most awkward, unpromising, and un- 
inspired. Any success I afterwards met, 
followed as hopeless a year or two of uninter- 
mitting effort and struggles as ever human be- 
ing spent. Only duty, affection and necessity 
held me up, my one comfort the being speed- 
ily enabled, with my most generous and devo- 
ted sisters' help, to release our mother from 
a thoroughly uncongenial occupation. 

In what follows, I have purposely refrained 
from touching upon that which belongs to 
the inner life either of myself or my subjects. 

While constrained to say a few words of 
family circumstances which led me to the 

theatre, 



theatre : to violate the domestic privacy of 
other actors would be impertinent and out 
of taste. The veil that shelters home should 
be sacred. Indeed it has always seemed to 
me the very gift of so much of ourselves be- 
hind the footlights ought to make them a 
more absolute barrier between the world and 
the rest of our lives. 

Of course charlatans seek every form of 
notoriety, but the great actors I have known 
" dwelt apart " far more than other people. 

These then are only a few wayside notes 
culled from a public career, which, by reason 
of its hard work, knew but little pleasure 
save the blessed one which bread-winners, 
toiling for those they love, alone can under- 
stand. As they are written, so must they 
be read, as one would listen to a voice in the 
gloaming — not in the spirit of criticism — for 
that they are beneath it no one knows better 
than the story-teller. Lacking even a spice 
of gossip, these trifles may be without flavor, 
but, such as they are, Nil nisi bonum. In- 
nocent and wholesome, it is hoped they can 
be read by young eyes, and upon young ears 
fall harmless. 

C. M. R. w. 

Boston, April, 1887. 



YESTERDAYS WITH ACTORS. 



CHAPTER I. 



Charlotte Cushman. 

I was once asked by some philanthropic The theatre as 
people what I thought of a young lad going a sch ° o1, 
into a theatre as assistant carpenter. I said 
I should consider him in the best of schools, 
and that an apprenticeship so spent could not 
but serve him well in any condition of life. 
Many hundred children may be educated in 
the same building and by the same teachers, 
and yet few of them may truly profit by their 
opportunities. I do not say, therefore, that all 
who spend a few brief years in the theatre 
come forth reflecting credit and honor on their 
chosen profession, but I do say they cannot 
but be the better, if they choose to benefit 
by the education of a theatre ; and here are 
some of the lessons taught : Punctuality, in- 
dustry, self-control, endurance, concentration, 

self- 



1 8 Yesterdays with Actors. 

self-reliance, silence, patience, obedience and 
charity. 

Balzac tells us that man is neither good nor 
bad, but born with instincts and capacities 
that self-interest develops. The theatre is a 
little world within itself, with all the varying 
phases of good, bad and indifferent, like any 
other and every other condition of life, and 
the stage, like society and empires, has its days 
of rise and decline. It has been said of painters 
and authors that they live in their labors. 
The standard Why not actors ? Would it be strange if, 
lve s. j- v ' n g as they do in an atmosphere of higher 
and better thoughts, their lives were " tuned 
to a higher key ? " Certain it is that you find 
many such. Some, not in the front rank, 
are never recognized beyond the footlights, 
scarcely even by those about them. They 
pass through the various scenes of duty with 
such delicacy as to leave no trace, until they 
themselves are no more and the place they 
filled is empty. It is only the spot of muddy 
water that leaves the stain. The snowflake 
vanishes. 
Pre-eminence Foremost among actresses and women was 
of charlotte Miss Charlotte Cushman. Clever people have 
already told of her life — its trials and its 
triumphs — and all that may be added are 
but a few old memories. 

The 



Charlotte Cushman. ig 

The first time I ever looked upon Miss My first meet- 
Cushman was in Washington, where she was inR WIth her ' 
to appear in Guy Mannering, in which I 
was intrusted with the small part of the Gipsy 
Girl — a very insignificant line or two — but at 
rehearsal I had been expressly told to carry 
a table off the stage at a certain "cue" to- 
gether with some other little details of " busi- 
ness," rather important to the action of the 
scene, as every minute particular is indeed, 
however trifling it may appear. All was 
clearly impressed upon my anxious mind until 
the time of its fulfilment, when, at the entrance Entrance of 
of Meg Merrilies, I could not say "four of m y Me s Merrilies 
five wits went walking off," for that would 
have left me " one to be known a reasonable 
creature," whereas mine went, all, every one, 
scattered like leaves before the gale. And 
looking back from this standpoint, I under- 
take my own defence, for to a person totally 
unprepared I can imagine nothing more 
frightfully startling than Miss Cushman 's Misg h _ 
"make-up" in that character. I only know I man's wonder 
have never witnessed anything approaching u ma e " up ' 
it. The work of the artist was so perfect, 
close study only made it the more wonderful. 
It could not be surpassed. Not only from 
head to heel was the observance complete, 
but in action, speech, carriage, voice, even in 

the 



20 Yesterdays with Actors. 

the old nurse's lullaby, there was an unbroken 
realization of a truly masterful creation. And 
the entrance of the witch, as Miss Cushman 
made it, added to the horror a thousand fold, 
with her hurricane-swooping rush to the mid- 
dle of the stage, where, as her glance fell 
upon her foster-child, she reminded you of a 
wave arrested at its very crest. She stood at 
her topmost height, as it seemed, without 
drawing her breath, partially holding her posi- 
tion by aid of the forked bough she carried for 
a staff. Though the attitude strained every 
muscle, she was absolutely motionless. 
An imitation I once saw a very clever girl give an imita- 
tion of this scene. In endeavoring to make 
her entrance with the speed and force of the 
original, she forgot her slippery footgear and 
the slope of the stage, and never stopped at 
the point of making her halt until she hur- 
riedly sat down just, and only just, short of the 
footlights. Ah ! that's twenty years ago, but I 
can seem to see the big, beautiful black eyes 
turning mournfully back from the past upon 
me, bidding me go on with my own shortcom- 
ing. So here they are. All went well upon 
the night in question, up to the point 
where my " business " should have been re- 
membered, when after "a wait" there re- 
mained the table I should have taken off, and 

there 



s Cush- 



Charlotte Cushman. 21 

there the gipsy girl, blind to all but the one 
hideous figure, and deaf to everything ; for 
muttered "go's " and "comes," I was told of 
afterwards, were all unheard at the moment ; 
my only remembrance is that the face glared 
down upon me, the brown turbaned head tow- 
ered above me, the bat -like wings of drapery 
enveloped me, the bony hand clutched me. 
Yes ; hand ! — for in the other, they said, re- 
mained the staff, but that one hand lifted me 
like a rag doll from one place and set me 
gently down upon my feet in another ! Miss Miss cushman 
Cushman had " cleared the stage " for herself ; clearsthestage - 
the volley of angry words fired at me in the 
entrance, from stage manager, prompter and 
everybody else, made my remissness and dis- 
grace stand in their true enormity before me 
and broke the witch's spell. 

On the same evening poor Miss Cushman Another disas- 
suffered from another mistake far more dis-* e , rinGuY 

Mannenng. 

astrous than my own. In the last scene the 
characters are all in the front of the stage, 
and a crowd of supernumeraries at the back. 
At a grand crisis Meg Merrilies points to 
Henry Bertram, and bids them " shout for 
the Laird of Ellangowan," and the crowd 
shout. 

Now, like most other stage directions, this 
looks simple enough, but its fulfilment re- 
quired 



22 Yesterdays with Actors. 

quired intelligence and watchfulness. Ac- 
cording to Miss Cushmari s rendering, strug- 
gling in her death agony, she said, "shout" 
three times before the cheer was really given, 
and then it was given in earnest. 

In all the rehearsals preceding the star's 
arrival, the prompter had hastily murmured 
the lines, as is the custom — indeed, in origi- 
nal manuscripts it is only the last words of 
the principal part that are even written, 
which gives to such copies in theatrical no- 
menclature the name "skeleton." So the 
"shout" had only been said once, to which 
the crowd had been in the habit of respond- 
ing. 
a tedious re- Though Miss Cushman gave the proper 
directions at the last rehearsal which she per- 
sonally conducted, it had been very long ; it 
was late in the play when the scene occurred ; 
everybody was tired and hungry — the crowd 
of unimportant people was as usual inatten- 
tive and indifferent. At night a general con- 
viction was felt that something had to be 
done and something left undone. But as out 
of a group of supernumeraries there will 
always be found some interested leaders, each 
one made up his mind to do what the next 
man did. So when Meg Merrilies gave her 
first feeble cry of " shout," a lusty voice roared 
"Hur— " 



hearsal. 



Charlotte Cushman. 23 

"Hur — ," and the groaning "not yet," The triple 
from Miss Cushman just held back the s 
" rah," only, however, to remind all of their 
duty ; so that with the next " shout" the 
whole crowd burst forth with a loud 
" Hur — ." With a stride and a menace she 
once more froze the "rah" upon their lips, ' 
and when the " shout " for the third time 
came, only one wee body in all the band was 
found to say " Hurrah," in a falsetto voice so 
shrill and with an advancing gesture so ex- 
aggerated that poor Meg Merrilies died to the 
sounds of smothered laughter. 

Dear lion-hearted, loyal-hearted Charlotte 
Cushma7i ! I may not esteem myself among 
her friends, for with such a woman friend 
meant something more than a mere acquaint- 
ance, but later I was brought near enough to 
love and honor her. 

Five years after my Washington experi-MissCushman 
ence, she came to the St. Charles Theatre, oJ^rL 
New Orleans, and, finding me biddable, obe- 
dient, and unfeignedly glad to adopt her cor- 
rections, she graciously taught me not only 
what concerned her own scenes, but 
the whole part of Juliet, and everything 
else I played with her. When the engage- 
ment was drawing near its close, she desired 
most earnestly that I might be allowed to 

travel 



a rehearsal. 



24. Yesterdays with Actors. 

travel with her, and, unknown to me, tried to 
induce the manager, Mr. De Bar, to find a 
substitute and give me up to her for the re- 
mainder of the season. Home ties prevented 
the fulfilment of any such plan, although I 
felt very proud of her election, and very grate- 
ful for her most generous appreciation and 
invaluable help. 
Miss Cush- I wish people who think acting so easy had 

e seen one little lesson I call to mind in this en- 
gagement. With my faulty memory I can 
think of neither plot nor names of charac- 
ters. I only know the play was The Actress 
of Padua, and that Miss Cushman told me to 
stay, that after the regular rehearsal she 
might drill me in some particular business 
she required. As far as I remember, it 
was one woman forcing another to kneel 
at a shrine which was placed on an 
elevation of three or four steps. But the 
tremendous crescendo with which it must be 
reached, and the picture then to be formed of 
the two figures grouped one above the other, 
was not readily accomplished. The whole 
action in the representation was probably not 
more than thirty seconds. But not seconds, 
nor minutes, but hours were spent before the 
lesson was pronounced perfect by the patient 
teacher, who had her reward later on in 

the 



Charlotte Cushman. 25 

the deafening applause that followed the 
effect. 

New Orleans in those days, with its criti- New Orleans 
cal French element, had, I think, the most audiences - 
exacting audiences I ever played before, but 
also the most generous. You could not help 
acting well to them. In the first place, they 
listened. No society buzz, except between the 
acts, when the French opera especially rep- 
resented a fashionable party — every one in 
full dress, — gentlemen and even ladies visit- 
ing from box to box. There was no chance 
with them for covering up an imperfect sen- 
tence or bungling error. They were listening, 
and then, upon the silence their satisfaction, 
when aroused, broke forth in that especially 
local, sharp, quick, hearty recognition, and 
the "Brava" that rang through the house, as 
on this occasion, was inspiration. 

In all great successes we can trace three The three quaii- 
qualities : the power of concentration — rivet- ties re( i ulslte to 
ting every force upon the one unwavering- 
aim — perseverance in the pursuit of our 
undertaking, — and the courage to enable us to 
bear up under all trials, disappointments and 
temptations that assail us in this life of pro- 
bation. As I remember the friend Miss 
Harriet Martineau tells us of, who, "at the age 
of eighty, renewed the lease of her house for 

fourteen 



perseverance. 



26 Yesterdays with Actors. 

fourteen years," I marvel at the strength of 
that woman's heart; for surely "there's the 
rub." Bone and sinew may hold out against 
the wear and tear of life. At the worst, they 
have seasons of rest, more or less imperfect ; 
but the never-ceasing heart and brain, with 
their delicate mechanism, must be tough 
withal that can last out the allotted span and 
retain hope and courage. 
MissCushman Miss Cushmcin was a most helpful and 
courage, con- striking example. Whatever she undertook 
centration and was d one w ith all her energy. No lack-lustre 
work, no half-hearted interest, no divided at- 
tention, no cowardly shrinking. With all 
her talent, she could not have been what she 
was without constant labor, persistent effort, 
and a brave heart. Who, that ever heard her 
speak of her London debut, could forget the 
description she gave of sitting in her simple 
lodging in anxious waiting, hoping against 
hope. Poor, unattractive and unknown — 
what chance had she ? In her agony of dread 
and doubt, looking back upon the past, and 
forward to the future, she brooded upon 
the struggle which, as bread-winner for those 
she loved, she felt for them, more than for 
herself. It is not enough in this world that 
we pray for help, we must help ourselves, and 
this night was to be CJiarlotte CusJimari s 

crucial 



Charlotte Cushman. 27 

crucial test. As the clock gave out the hour 
for her going to the theatre, she sprang to her 
feet, and, with clasped hands, cried out aloud 
for the power which she felt to be within her, 
to be given to her grasp in all its fulness, 
and it was. She slept in the little lodging 
that night laurel crowned. She awoke the 
following morning to find herself famous ! 

After her retirement, and a sojourn of, I Her return 
think, eight years in Rome, she came home thestage - 
to her native land, to her life-long friends, to 
her "dearly loved" and trusted doctors, in 
whom she had the most pathetic confidence, to 
see if there was any cure for a terrible and ex- 
hausting disease. She told of their decision 
against it in all calmness ; and while taking 
strength from a nervous clasping of the hands 
(I have seen this in others of like tempera- 
ment) she added with fervor : " But, my dear 
doctors here have taught me how to live with 
my trouble." I grew cold and sick as I thought 
what "her trouble" must have been when she 
needed to be taught how to live with it. The al- Acting as a 
leviation they proposed was that she should re- alleviatlon 

J r _ r pam. 

turn to her readings, even perhaps the stage, 
that the excitement of the old life might 
awaken new interests, and if possible afford 
relief in the necessary strain of every faculty. 
The triumph of mind over matter was ex- 
emplified 



28 Yesterdays with Actors. 

emplified in this rare woman. Without one 
personal charm of face or figure, as the 
beautiful Queen Katherine, the lovely 
Rosalind, she did not woo her audience, she 
seized upon them. 

At home, abroad, she was sought out in 
every drawing room. She not only attracted 
but held her listeners. Beauty and coloring 
are indigenous to every soil, but this American 
stood alone. Dimpled feminine grace could 
not strike the balance against the genius and 
power of a grand soul. 

I heard her read in the Music Hall in one 
of her last readings. I saw her act at the 
Globe Theatre in one of her last perfor- 4 
mances upon the stage. The hair was white, 
but the old fire was intense as ever. I have 
seen other famous Queen Katherines, but as 
the words come back upon my ear, "My 
Lord Cardinal, to you I speak," I seem to 
remember only that one ringing voice, the 
averted head, the magnificent pose, the gran- 
deur of the out-stretched arm, the power, 
even in the pointed finger, and the thrill that 
held me spell-bound. 

Others have found their imitators and suc- 
cessors. The force of Charlotte Cushmans 
genius so stamped our memories that we 
cannot regret that the great queen's throne 
remains empty. chapter 



CHAPTER II. 

Edwin Forrest. 

The theatre is indeed a little world in itself, The theatre a 
and behind the scenes a very strange world new world ' 
to the uninitiated ; so strange, that as a girl 
I experienced a sort of "Alice in Wonder- 
land " feeling in reaching the Mecca of my 
desires. The walrus and the carpenter and the 
young oysters, hand in hand, could not have 
astonished me more than the odd combina- 
tion of characters and their queer surround- 
ings, as I found them in the beehive of 
industry, — behind the scenes. The very use 
of words made its language a foreign tongue. 
I was told to go off at " the tormentor," and 
that meant, as I learned, to leave the stage 
by the door nearest the audience. I was 
sent to my dressing room " in the flies " with 
a young girl, who informed me she was " a 
walking lady," the name given to a class of 
parts in theatres, but having a singular sound 
in my ears, until, upon close observance of the 
performance that night, I thought I had solved 

the 



JO Yesterdays with Actors. 

the problem for myself, for I saw she did not 
sit down. In those days we had to serve 
an apprenticeship, and with most of us it was 
a hard one. May no poor child in like cir- 
cumstances sink down discouraged, thinking 
all the world is turned against her as the weeks 
go by, and nothing but failure comes to crown 
her efforts ! Even when success does follow, 
no triumph can be won without many a defeat 
and many a wound. How many, only those 
who have fought the battle of life can realize ! 
My gratitude to But there are kind hearts, by the way, and 
es ' I have met with many, — God bless them ! 
To no one do I owe so deep a debt of grati- 
tude as to the late Edwin Forrest. He was 
playing an engagement at the old Broadway 
Theatre when I arrived, a stranger in New 
York ; and my astonishment is great today 
when I remember I had the desperate cour- 
age to go to his hotel and ask for him, 
like any common mortal, and greater far, that 
he came in answer to the summons — came in 
all the simple dignity so pre-eminently his, 
so often found accompanying true genius. 
The boldness of the step 1 took will miss its 
point unless the reader appreciates the impor- 
Actors' emhu- tance °f suc h a person in my esteem. Actors 
siasm for good are, as a race, heartily cordial in their recog- 
nition of talent. Neither money nor power 

nor 



Edwin Forrest. ji 

nor social position weigh with them against 
it. They may not like the man, but they will 
stand at the side scenes night after night, and 
lose themselves in honest admiration of the 
artist. I may have been more than ordinar- 
ily impressionable, but the coming of every 
crowned head in Europe would not have 
filled me with the awe I felt as the servant 
showed me into a little parlor where I 
awaited the great tragedian. And another 
important point must be considered : I fully 
realized the value of Mr. Forrest's time. A 
conspicuous man was worried then, as now, 
with a thousand little annoyances that beset 
public people ; demands for assistance from 

1 i r The demands 

those who seem to think an actor owns a mint up0 n a great 
of his own ; stage-struck youths and damsels actor ' s time - 
who implore, if nothing else, entrance behind 
the scenes ; requests for his autograph ; pho- 
tographers wanting a picture ; ambitious 
young play-writers who coolly request the ar- 
tist to give his brain in criticism of a maiden 
effort, even if he does not accept the tragedy ; 
not to speak of the applications such a man 
receives, asking him to act for this charity or 
that, by people who would be never so sur- 
prised if you were constantly making calls 
upon them for the same value in merchan- 
dise ; and then the ordinary business to be 

attended 



J2 Yesterdays with Actors. 

attended to ; social matters to remember ; 
besides the artist's own reading; study ; re- 
hearsals ; travel ; and at least four or five hours 
given to acting, dressing and undressing, every 
night, six days out of seven ! There were no 
matinees to make a seventh and eighth per- 
formance at this time, but the work was 
much harder than it is now, since we had not 
entered upon the " long run " of plays. Stars 
followed each other in quick succession, and, 
although many legitimate pieces were repeated 
they involved constant rehearsals. What 
wonder if some hedging and fencing was 
found necessary, then as now, to gain rest and 
Mr. Forrest's recreation. But the ceremony that conceit 
accessi 1 ity. a ff ec t s among some, in the ranks, makes the 
simplicity of the great General more forcibly 
and gratefully remembered, 
interview with On introducing myself, I briefly stated that 
Mr. Forrest. m y object in seeking him was to ask an open- 
ing in the city of New York, for, by making an 
appearance under his auspices something 
might surely come of it. The grave and 
taciturn man listened to all I had to say, 
evidently pitying my distress, for he knew 
this was no case of "going on the stage" 
for any gratification of personal conceit 
or silly vanity, but an earnest appeal of a 
fellow-worker in sore need of work. Never- 
theless, 



Edwin Forrest. JJ 

theless, he told me frankly I was too young 
to play before a metropolitan audience, and 
his advice was that I should return to Nash- 
ville (whence I had come) for a year or two, 
and acquire more experience. These words 
took almost the last " straw from the drown- 
ing man," and pride, if there were any, went 
under, leaving honest poverty to speak for 
itself, which it did in the frank confession 
that I had spent all my money to bring me to 
New York, and in New York, therefore, I 
must take my chance of earning more. 

" You will be worse off yet if you play here 
and fail." 

"But, Mr. Forrest, in Richelieu you say 
'there's no such word as fail.'" 

Whether the reply struck him as a happy Kindness to a 
one, or his own goodness of heart spoke for me, Joung aspirant - 
suffice it to say he did seem pleased with the 
answer, and from that moment my star was 
in -the ascendant. I was first told to read to 
him, then asked what I wanted to play, 
" Lady Macbeth or Pauline ? " 

" Neither Lady Macbeth nor Pauline, but 
any part, however small, that you think I 
am competent to play." 

If my most ardent well wisher had cud- 
gelled his brains for a successful debut, he 
could not have done better for me than Mr. 

Forrest 



J^ Yesterdays with Actors. 

Virginia select- Forrest, when, after a two hours' ordeal, in 
York'dTbut'^ wn ^ cn I was ma -de to read first one author and 
then another, he finally decided upon Virginia 
for a first appearance. I learned afterward he 
had not been able to play Virginius for two 
years, not having a youthful and at the same 
time competent Roman maiden ; for while this 
character wants a sufficiently trained actress 
to let acting alone (a delicate touch of art, let 
me say) the part is not one to make greater 
demands than a young girl can fulfil. When 
the night of the performance came, Mr. For- 
rest sent to my dressing room to say he 
wished to see me. My costume was severely 
simple, my only ornament the fillet of white 
ribbon holding back hair that fell to my 
knees, which my mother had let loose, think- 
ing it in keeping with the childish appearance 
the character demanded. As I emerged 
from my room an interested, kindly soul 
would have held me back while she coiled up 
the veil of tresses before inspection, for as 
she said, " He never would allow that."' But 

Preparing for a ... 

stem judgment, there he was looming up in the distance, im- 
patient, as I felt, at any delay. Right or wrong 
I stood before him. He took a general sur- 
vey, from head to foot, with an absolutely 
immovable countenance, then in solemn 
silence, shifted his position to the side, and 



Edwin Forrest. 



JD 



in an instant had run his hand under the 
offending hair at the roots. Using his fingers 
for a comb he carried it to the ends. The 
fear of his displeasure gave me courage to 
say, " I can put it up if you don't like it." 
Imagine the relief when the gruff reply came, 
" I do ; it's your own," and after another sus- 
pension of breath on my part and yet another 
savagely silent examination on his, he growled 
out: "Little pale, but you'll do." This Mn Forrest . s 
sentence from the lips of my judge, moderate mcrciful ver - 
and merciful from him, gave me a convulsive 
sensation of gratitude that almost choked 
me, and, with set teeth and clenched hands, 
in the dim silence of that strange theatre did 
I pray the verdict of the public that night 
might be no less, for on that depended "daily 
bread " for me and mine. 

When, in obedience to the call of Virginius, stage fright 
I made my first appearance in the doorway at p"^^^' ^ r r 
the back of the stage and faced the crowded sorption of 
theatre, the applause so warmly bestowed irginiul 
frightened me even more than I had been 
frightened before. As I stood in the deep 
trough of that sea of people (for that is what 
a closely packed auditorium most resem- 
bles when viewed from that point) I felt 
paralyzed and speechless ; until, through the 
tumult, there came to me a man's voice 



36 Yesterdays with Actors. 

wooing and tender, saying : " Don't be 
frightened. Come to me ; you're all right. 
Come!" So real was the illusion, so strong, 
so perfect, so true was the personation of the 
Roman father that, at his word, I was by his 
side ; his child Virginia, — stilled, comforted 
and safe. 
Mr. Forrest's The tenderness of the characterization was 
in singular contrast with the severity and re- 
moteness of the man. It will always be a sin- 
cere regret to me that, never while he lived, 
could I express myself to my benefactor as my 
heart prompted. So reserved, so business-like, 
so impersonal in his teaching was he. 
Pauline taught If l did not P la Y Pauline at that time, I 
me. learned to do so in the time to come. A 

scene from the Lady of Lyons had been 
made one of my test readings, so having 
begun upon the part, Mr. Forrest expressed 
his willingness to give me another appoint- 
ment and then another, until it should be 
finished. Such a master naturally found 
plenty of faults. My want of feeling espec- 
ially induced him to repeat some of the 
speeches for me. And when in years that 
followed I did play Pauline, I never lingered 
on the words, "What was the slight of a 
poor, powerless girl ?" as he had taught me, 
without the incongruous Gladiator in con- 
nection 



Edwin Forrest. J7 

nection with the "poor, powerless girl" re- 
curring to my mind. 

I naturally desire to speak with a grate- 
ful appreciation of Mr. Forrest and all I 
consider he did for me. This one act of 
disinterested goodness was the means of 
opening various avenues. Within a week I 
was engaged for the summer season in Mon- 
treal, Mr. John Bnckland manager ; and for 
the following winter I signed articles with 
Mr. William E. Burton for his Chambers 
Street Theatre, New York. 

Edwin Forrest rose, as all know, to the Mr. Forrest's 
most lofty height in his profession by inherent commandin s 
force of genius. There was no fantastical 
advertising necessary in his case. His own 
iron will and indomitable perseverance went 
hand in hand with his great power and car- 
ried him upward and onward in his career. 
His very faults were the outgrowth of his 
day. Coarse, muscular physique and sten- Mr. Forrest's 
torian lungs were more in accordance with fauIts those of 

° the taste of the 

the requirements of the stage during the first day. 
half of the century in America than the so- 
called " natural " school that followed, and 
which in turn is opening up a new era of a 
higher and better taste again. Had Edwin 
Forrest been born twenty years later, no 
roughness would have dimmed the lustre of 

the 



against Mr. 



j8 Yesterdays with Actors. 

the diamond in his prime, any more than in 
his later performances. Apropos of one of 
these occasions. A well known lady in Bos- 
ton, was the fortunate means of taking a little 
party of critical people to the Boston Theatre, 
when the tragedian was to appear in Riche- 
lieu. Her friends were filled with prejudice ; 
Prejudice they argued loud and long, all to no purpose ; 
she was broad, they narrow, narrow as the 
streets of their dear native city, intolerant 
as the Puritans of old who trod them. 
Had they ever seen Mr. Forrest act ? 
No. Neither did they wish to do so. They 
knew what he was, " all sound and fury, signi- 
fying nothing;" besides, the man was socially 
ostracized, and that was enough. We read 
of the French court, "as they grew in ex- 
quisite refinement of manner they troubled 
themselves less about morals." Heaven save 
the mark! Is there no via media? However, 
in a contentious spirit, but for love of their 
hostess, they consented to accompany her to 
her box at the theatre. When Richelieu entered 
a conquest by they were too well bred not to affect a certain 
his perform- silent interest. That was enough. He came, 
Richelieu. they saw, he conquered ! The scholar and 
the artist in the auditorium could not but recog- 
nize the scholar and the artist on the stage, 
his every tone and look, the very play of his 

hands, 



Edwin Forrest. jg 

hands, were so studiously observed and so 
historically correct. The power and magne- 
tism that in Richelieu held all France, 
through Edwin Forrest cast its charm upon 
the audience, and Richelieu lived again. 
When the curtain fell upon the last act, the 
party of critical friends were, without an ex- 
ception, as lavish of their enthusiasm as the 
actor's warmest admirer could desire, and the 
impression of that performance remains with 
them to this day. ° 

What Mr. Edwin Forrest might have been Mr. Forrest's 
in his youth I do not know. In my recollec- 3 charhy. 7 
tion he was most unpopular with his profes- 
sional brethren. His manner certainly was 
far from conciliating, yet never did kinsman 
do more for his clan. While he lived there 
were many of his beneficiaries who never 
knew to whom they were indebted. 

One instance I can quote that came under 
my own eye. A card was left at Mr. For- 
rest's house in Philadelphia, saying : 

"Dear Sir : Do you know old Mr. is ill 

and in need ? " 

In less than an hour an unstamped en- 
velope, addressed in an unknown hand, in- 
closing 



Yesterdays with Actors. 



A seasonable 
gift to a fellow 



Hamlet and 
Rosencrantz, 



closing one hundred dollars, was lying on the 
sick man's bed. In another hour the patient 
was sleeping peacefully without fever, as he 
had not slept for several days and nights. 
His life was saved, thanks to his unknown 
physician. " Heartsease " had done its work. 
On another occasion, in the green-room of 
the National Theatre at Washington, a poor 
fellow was telling a sympathetic comrade of 
his hard lot ; how he was obliged to continue 
on*with his inferior situation and insufficient 
salary, because half a loaf was better than 
none for his wife and little ones, the special 
aggravation being that, although he had filled 
in the present gap with the understanding 
he should go if a better chance offered ; now, 
when the offer came of an excellent position 
and like remuneration, he must refuse it 
for lack of traveling expenses, for a long 
journey. Just now a single fare was more 
than he could obtain. All were called upon the 
stage or had left the green-room exceptng 
the poverty-stricken husband and father, who 
sat looking on his letter of engagement with 
longing, hungry eyes. The Hamlet of the 
night was dressing where a thin partition, 
not reaching to the ceiling, had forced the 
conversation in upon his own quietness, and, 

striding 



Edzi'iii Forrest. 41 

striding forward out of his " bin " to the long 
looking-glass in the green-room, as if every 
thought were given to the set of his " inky- 
cloak," while indeed his eyes were search- 
ingly bent on the man behind him — he doubt- 
less recognized the Rosencrantz of the play, 
a faithful and attentive co-laborer. The 
" star " wheeled suddenly round as if hesi- 
tating an instant before even offering a 
helping hand to a self-respecting friend, and 
then, with a quick action, dropped a purse into 
the lap of the astonished recipient, saying, 
" Did I hear you wanted the money for your 
travelling expenses. There it is ; don't say 
where you got it." And, without waiting for 
acceptance or refusal, the Prince of Denmark 
walked out of the room. 

Were these well-springs by the dusty road- 
side of life all, they were enough to keep 
fresh flowers upon a grave, and prove that 
"a great man's memory may outlive his life a g 
half a year, even if he did not build churches." mer 
But Mr. Edwin Forrest did more, much 
more. When an Englishman shows you the 
home of the Chelsea pensioners, it is with a 
feeling of just pride in a glorious national 
institution, and the heart must be stony that 
does not enjoy the sight of the old men, after 

the 



Why a 
often n 
help. 



42 Yesterdays with Actors. 

the heat and burden of the day, resting upon 
their laurels till they shall answer " Adsum " 
to their names at the last and pass on to 
"the presence of their Master." 

I quote this institution because it always 
suggested a model home to me, free, un- 
trammelled, hospitable and simple. 

There are dramatic funds and societies, 
and much assistance is given by the more for- 
tunate of a class that is always charitable and 
ready, in fact never saying nay. I have seen an 
appeal put up in a green-room asking help, 
and in two hours every soul in the theatre 
had made some subscription from twenty-five 
dollars to twenty-five cents. But, because the 
refined in any sphere shrink from making their 
wants known, there are many cases of crying 
need that must be helped by other methods. 
No people require to be pensioned in oneway 
or another so much, for various reasons, as ac- 
tors ; one being that, as a general thing, they 
are singularly deficient in business knowl- 
edge, and, for the most part, — childlike and 
bountiful themselves, they are without the 
least suspicion of double dealing in others. 
What wonder, if, having passed out of the 
sunshine, they are left without the artificial 
warmth so necessary for the shade ? 

About 



Edwin Forrest. 43 

About three miles from the city of Phila- The Forrest 
delphia, in its own spacious grounds, stands Home- 
the Forrest Home for Old Actors and Ac- 
tresses. The home contains not only com- 
forts, but luxuries, statuary, pictures, and Mr. 
Forrest's own magnificent library. It has also 
a beautiful garden, a portion of which is al- 
lowed to each resident for his own use. Above 
and beyond all, this foundation was not in- 
tended to be regarded by its inmates as a 
charity. They are welcome guests, with 
"good quarters, good food, good light and 
fire, and good friends," their privacy respect- 
ed, their pride tenderly dealt with, their indi- 
vidual requirements considered. Even when 
they are desirous of paying a visit to a rela- 
tive or a friend, help is given, funds are 
pressed upon the grateful pensioner, and all 
in a delicate way, which heals, not hurts, 
the most sensitive soul. Many visitors are 
received by the little band ; many favors ac- 
corded them. These faithful servants, who Not a charity, 
have broken down in the service of their art, b " tanhonor - 

' able retreat. 

are made to feel that they are only adequately 
rewarded by one whose bequest was made for 
that art's sake, which he had likewise served 
so loyally ; while those who can do so are 
provided in various ways with opportunity for 
independence 



44 Yesterdays with Actors. 

independence and self-support, especially in 
the way of instruction in elocution, dramatic 
expression, the use of the weapons now relin- 
quished by the tired veteran. " Here would 
be a place for an old fellow when his career is 
over, to hang his sword up, to humble his 
soul, and to wait thankfully for the end." 
And this is the work of one man. Blessed 
be the memory of the founder! 




CHAPTER III. 



yohn Brougham. 

The stage in my girlhood was a place of The hard work 
poorly paid respectability and hard work, °J . th Q U s ^ se m 
— the one as unquestionable as the other. In 
those days a " walking lady's " whole ward- 
robe consisted of white muslin frocks. Lucky 
was she if, as in my own case, there was a 
chest of old East Indian riches to convert 
into flounces and tucks and ruffles and over- 
skirts. With that, and a few sashes, I had 
all the variety expected of me. Well do I 
remember " the event " of a first silk dress, 
the almost anxious delight in thinking 
whether it should be pink or blue, the inde- 
cision between a flower and a stripe, the ter- 
rible moment of cutting and fitting, and, after 
all was over, and the dress complete, the 
wrapping of the choice morsel up, and laying 
it away in lavender as too good for common 
wear. 

I 



Necessary ex- 
penses of an 



46 Yesterdays with Actors. 

I know that actors and actresses are 
usually regarded as improvident ; but take 
the same temperament, it will remain the 
same, whatever may be the surroundings. A 
close, cautious, saving habit does not fit into 
a free, generous nature, and, however praise- 
worthy that saving may be, we do not find it 
in excess among people whose health and 
strength is given for others. This is often 
the case upon the stage, and, as a conse- 
quence, actors are poor, because they have so 
many to support. Upon this question, too, 
of improvidence, let it be remembered the 
theatre makes not temptations only, but 
actual necessity to spend. Take a simple 
case in point. An actress must be at re- 
hearsal at a certain time, let her condition of 
health be what it may ; let the storm be 
never so severe, she must be there. She 
must not stand for some hours in damp 
clothing, for she dare not risk hoarseness or 
rheumatism. Illness in a servant of the pub- 
lic will not be received understandingly by 
them nor with sympathy by the management. 
Each individual is only a part of a great 
machine, and the loss of one small rubber on 
the wheel may produce a most unpleasant 
friction. Therefore, though a carriage might 
seem an extravagance in one of such a 

meagre 



John Brougham. ffl 

meagre income, to the actress it is a necessary 
economy. The same again for the perfor- 
mance. The play cannot go on without her ; 
she must be there at any cost. That " she The play of the 
must be there" reminds me that when the Coiieen Bawn 
Colleen Bawn first achieved its great suc-o-co^nor! 7 
cess at the Boston Museum — which had no 
back entrance — I found myself one evening 
at the foot of a great staircase blocked with 
the slowly surging crowd. To win my way 
step by step with them would have made 
me late. Swallowed up in the vortex, 
what was I to do ? Gentle pushings met 
with more violent rejoinders. A whispered 
request to be allowed to pass was answered by 
a rude, " Do you think I'm going to lose my 
chance to see the play?" Finally I lost all 
reserve in my distress, and cried out : 
" There'll be no play without me ; I'm the 
Colleen Bawn." The crowd parted, and 
the. quick response, '-It's the Colleen 
Bawn." "Bless her, its Eily O'Connor," re- 
vealed by their Celtic accents and quick court- 
esy the warm-hearted kinsfolk of the Irish 
heroine who were thronging the theatre. I 
know of a play once, however, that did go on 
without the principal part. True, there was JohnBr0UCTh . 
only one man who would have dared to at- am's character- 
tempt it, only one man who could have done 



48 Yesterdays with Actors. 

so successfully, and that was John Broug- 
ham — genial, sanguine, clever, witty, gentle- 
manly John Brougham. It was in his own 
burlesque of Pocahontas. One night, at 
the height of its success, with a ferocious 
snow storm raging without, Wallack's elegant 
little theatre, as usual, packed within, a whis- 
per ran behind the scenes, " The Pocahontas 
Pocahontas °f tne night has not arrived ! " The time 
la "- came for the ringing up of the curtain — still 

she did not appear. The whole company was 
there, gathered in little groups about the 
scenes, but, without the principal character, 
they were useless. The back door was con- 
stantly interviewed, boys were sent off in 
every direction ; five minutes, ten minutes, 
fifteen minutes past the proper time ; a last 
lingering look in the direction of the back 
door, where panting, snowclad messengers 
rushed in from their cold hunt, but no squaw 
had they bagged ! Every one looked serious. 
A slight indication of restlessness began to 
assert itself on the part of the audience. 
"Go on," said John Brougham, and the 
The play with- p rom pter did " go on." The orchestra struck 

out the heroine. r r ° 

up the well known melody. Everybody, in 
breathless astonishment, took their "situa- 
tions " as the father of the burlesque and the 
lost child coolly announced that he should 

play 



John Brougham. 4Q 

play the piece without her. The curtain rose 
on "smoking, joking Powhatan," swinging 
himself and his majestic cloak into the circle 
of his subjects, and the King played not only 
his own part, but, with his quick and ready 
wit and irresistible humor, managed to weave 
in the lines of the absentee ; at one moment 
confiding to the actors, " That is what Poca- 
hontas would say if she were here," or 
in turn asking sympathy of his audience for 
anything on his part " rather slow," but "I'm 
naturally affected, having lost my papoose in 
the snow," until the merriment knew no 
bounds, and the whole burlesque was success- 
fully carried to the end, to the great amuse- 
ment of one and all — for that was a strong 
point in Mr. Broughams fun, he enjoyed it Mr. Brough- 
himself. He and his audience were on the am ' s speeches - 
best of terms everywhere, and John Brougham 
before the curtain was even more attractive 
than John Brougham in the play. I have 
known people in St. Louis and elsewhere to 
ask at the box office when "his speech " came 
off, so that failing to find time for the whole 
performance they could come in for that. 
Indeed, there grew up a feeling on their part 
that they had been defrauded of their rights 
if he coquettishly endeavored to omit this 
impromptu address. Apropos of impromptus, 



$0 Yesterdays with Actors. 

a neat little bona fide inspiration of Mr. 
Brougham s, as written on Miss Fanny Daven- 
port 's fan, ran thus : — 

" A fan to Fan, although a gift not great, 
I fancy may be deemed appropriate ; 
For when you're fanning Fanny, do you see, 
You'll have to think of your warm friend, 

j.Br 

Acting in New I do not remember anything like his Poca- 
York and Phil- n0 ntas episode either before or since, but 
same night. John Brougham was fond of odd doings. 
Another of these was acting in New York in 
the first piece and in Philadelphia in the sec- 
ond, on the same night. This also was a 
complete success. He only appeared in a 
farce called the Three Clerks in New 
York. A carriage, of course, was ready to 
dash with him to a special train. In the 
transit he cast the skin of the one part and 
arrayed himself for the other, so he was all 
ready for the stage when he reached Phila- 
delphia. His only hindrance arose from the 
crowd assembled by curious incredulity at 
the announcement of the undertaking, in the 
railway station and about the back door of 
the theatre. Entrance was forced with diffi- 
culty, but the delay of the waiting audience 
inside was compensated by the delight of the 

immense 



John Brougham. 5/ 

immense mob without, which hailed with 
hearty cheers the passage of King Powhatan 
in full war paint. This occurred at a time 
when Mr. Brougham was once again holding Failure as a 
the reins of management, in which race he managt;r- 
always lost, being no practical man of busi- 
ness, and having no more idea of the value of 
money than just such bright, busy-minded, 
easy-going, care-shedding, sanguine souls ever 
do have. Dazzle, in London Assurance, „ , ,, 

' ' Dazzle .Mr. 

whose motto is, "An empty purse falling Brougham's 
through a hole in the pocket," was created by pi ° ° 3pe ' 
him as an acting part, and has always been 
said to be his own by authorship also ; drawn 
by him from his own mirror. But certainly 
it was no fault of the manager if this enter- 
prise in the Bowery Theatre failed. 

It was at the time of Mr. and Mrs. Charles King John at 
Keans great Shakesperian revival at the the Bower y- 
Princess's in London, that, profiting in the 
summer season by the closing of other the- 
atres, John Brougham got together a picked 
company, embracing Mine. Ponisi, Charles 
Fisher, and other members of Wallack's and 
Laura Keene's. King John was carefully 
produced, re-enforced by Mr. E. L. D'aven- a strong coir 
port as King John, William Wheatley, of the pany ' 
Arch Street, Philadelphia, as Faulconbridge, 
Mrs. E. L. Davenport as Constance, and 

John 



$2 Yesterdays with Actors. 

John Brotigham in the original part of Leader 
of the Supernumeraries. It may seem a singu- 
lar role for such a man to undertake, but he 
meant in every detail to insure success, and 
it is needless to say, while he personated the 
head of one army, the other was well offi- 
cered ; and more well-drilled, earnest troops 
were never seen in a body of regular soldiers. 
There never was a stage where the possi- 
bilities were greater, being so deep as to per- 
mit the effect of the army marching up from 
a valley at the back, and the height of the 
theatre none realized more fully than myself, 
when, as Arthur, I stood upon the walls and 
looked down into the sickening space before 
the leap he is supposed to make. I have 
often jumped a distance of a few feet, but 
even then there is a jar, as I found when I did 
it night after night, although there is always a 
mattress laid to "break the fall." But a 
leap, such as the one I speak of in King 
John, could not be taken unless the actor 
were to fulfil Shakespeare's intention of death 
to the one taking it. As Arthur is seen on 
the battlements, he is heard to speak the 
lines : — 

" The wall is high, and yet will I leap down, 
Good ground, be pitiful and hurt me not * * * 
As good to die and go as die and stay." 

And 



John Brougham. 53 

And the audience sees the boy apparently 
dash himself from that terrific height upon 
the rock below, where he dies, speaking the 
words : — 

" O me, my uncle's spirit is in these stones, 
Heaven take my soul, and England keep my 
bones. " 

But a "double" was used for the fall, a T heuse 
limp, made-up figure, dressed exactly like double - 
Arthur, the battlements being so constructed 
that, as the line was spoken, " As good to die 
and go as die and stay," I ran, as if to take 
the leap, past a turreted part of the wall. 
Behind that turret we changed places, the 
"double" was cast over the battlements and 
disappeared among the tangled grass beneath 
the wall, while I grasped the perpendicular 
rods, also behind the turret, and slid clown 
simultaneously with the fall of the "dummy." 
As that reached the underbrush so must I. 
The men, whose business it was, caught me a 
few feet from the ground. An opening was 
left in the scene which admitted of my being 
rolled through it, so, as the "double" disap- 
peared, I took my place behind the "set 
piece " under the wall and raised my head 
to speak the last two lines. All this seems 
very complicated, but it is only one scene 

of 



54 Yesterdays with Actors. 

a risk which of many that an audience looks at every night 
required cooi- without rea lizing its difficulty and danger, and 

ness and quick- _ ° J & ' 

ness. this fact certainly can be affirmed : — had 

there been any hesitancy on my part, I could 
never have "won in" with that "double," 
and had there been any want of faithfulness 
on the part of the good fellow who caught 
me on that "flying drop," I should not be 
here to tell the tale. 

This production of one of Shakespeare's 
greatest plays, magnificently acted, failed so 
signally as to leave the manager with a nightly 
deficit, necessitating the withdrawal of King 
John after only two weeks. 

I quote the following to show what may 
fail and what may succeed with the fickle 
public. The manager, utterly discouraged, 

The Pirates of called a rehearsal of the Pirates of the Mis- 
No one had ever heard of such a 
band, and a more motley mass was never 
seen. At the first rehearsal I read from my 
part in one place, "Enter — Mad — Exit," 
which meant that the author was to write a 
mad scene to enable the carpenters to prepare 
an important "set" behind. I asked for the 
rest of my part. "My dear," said Mr. 
Brougham, "it's not written yet; you shall 
have it to-morrow." To-morrow the same 
reply. On the third day I ventured to sug- 
gest. 



yohn Brougham. 55 

gest, "I cannot study my scene, Mr. Brougham Left to write 
if it is not given me to-night." "Of course m v own scene - 
not, my dear. Well, write it for yourself, 
only go mad. The girl's in love ; you know 
what she'd say under the circumstances better 
than I do, but go mad for five minutes — six, 
if you can — only go mad!" Now, as a 
pleasant way of turning a joke this was all 
very well ; but I knew it was really a fact 
that I was expected to write a soliloquy for 
myself, and being in those days especially 
given to the long, sweet silences Mr. Henry 
James says are characteristic of my country- 
women, the knowledge that I must talk for 
five minutes was positively alarming, and bad 
as the language of the part had seemed 
hitherto, the responsibility of setting my own 
words down made it now appear the consum- 
mation of literary skill. However, I did my Madness imi _ 
"possible" to adapt what I heard a poor tated from life - 
lunatic say only a few hours before ; her 
frenzied manner, her convulsive clutching that 
I had shrunk from, her piercing shriek that 
had wrung my heart, were not forgotten in 
my contribution to the Pirates of the Mis- 
sissippi, and the kindly appreciation be- 
stowed upon "my scene" was, as I felt, all 
due to the poor, unconscious example, who 
died a raving maniac shortly after. 

This 



$6 Yesterdays with Actors. 

Tom and jerry This piece made a tremendous hit, as well 
as another effort in the same style, an adapta- 
tion of Tom and Jerry, or Life in London, 
called Tom and Jerry in New York. It 
was an ingenious thought to transfer to the 
streets of New York the popular English 
story of half a century before, and to intro- 
duce a German professor {John Brougham s 
own part) whose catch phrase, " I am a 
gindred zoul," became the by-word of the 
town ; — along with the familiar leather gaiters 
of Jerry Hawthorn, the green spectacles of 
Logic, the hook nose of Corinthian Tom, im- 
mortalized by Cruikshank. But, withal, the 
season proved a loss to the treasury, and a 
winding up of affairs brought about many 
difficulties, one being that of Mr. Brougham s 
withdrawal and a consequent disagreement as 
to the payment of certain salaries already 
due. Where daily income only covers daily 
expenses, it is indispensable, especially with 
sorrow and illness at home, and only one 
left to shoulder the burden. To every girl the 
asking for money is a reluctantly performed 

Difficulty about tas k jf not an absolutely painful one. It be- 

my salary. J 

came doubly so to me, when I was first told 
to go to the treasury, then sent to Mr. 
Brougham, who, with sincere regret, but de- 
cision, returned me to the treasury, where, 

with 



John Brougham. 5J 

with greater decision and without regret, they 
told me to go back to Mr. Brougham — but 
that fairly broke me down. I went home to 
find even greater trouble there than I had 
feared. All this delayed me, and I did not 
reach the theatre that evening until the last 
moment. I was running breathless to my 
dressing room, when the doorkeeper held me 
back, saying, I was to be refused admittance. Refused admit- 
I had not an instant to spare, the callboy was |*^ r *° the 
making his usual rounds with the well known 
"Overture in — everybody ready to begin." 
I insisted upon seeing the manager, but this 
had been anticipated and was denied. I 
could hear the orchestra preparing their in- 
struments. Every moment was vital, and 
yet I stood dazed and stupefied, not believ- 
ing my senses. The man was soft spoken in 
the discharge of his duty, but every word was 
a stab, and I remained, listening, without 
the ability to move until I heard the overture 
acually begin and the boy call the characters 
for the first scene. It was really true, then ; 
some one else had replaced me, and with the 
last notes of Bellini sounding in my ear I 
turned to go home. As sometimes happens, 
" some cold mannered friend may often do us 
the truest service." There I found such an 
acquaintance 



$8 Yesterdays with Actors. 

acquaintance. Astonished at my appearance, 
he knew something must be wrong, so the 
key of sympathy unlocked the floodgates, and 
left me without restraint. I told all I knew. 
He returned to the theatre to demand an ex- 
planation. The fact was elicited that it was 
taken for granted I was remaining away until 
the last moment, to enforce payment of my sal- 
ary ; therefore, not to be at my mercy, they re- 
suit against fused me justice. Before I knew it, the case 
Mr. Broug- was i n the hands of a lawyer, and a suit 
g g™ s " "" against the manager was the result. The 
call for my testimony in court, the publicity, 
the anxiety, and then the delay from week to 
week were so painful that I never desire 
another. Although I won my first case, I 
won it by the evidence of my opponent, 
strangely enough, and I cite the little circum- 
stance to Mr. Brougliatri s honor. The man- 
ager who denied me entrance maintained I 
had forfeited my engagement by not being at 
the theatre in time, which was his only point, 

John Broug- 

ham a witness zxiA John Brougham was put upon the stand 
for the defence. t0 corroborate his testimony. The witness 
was serious, unlike himself, and bore his cross- 
questioning with a rueful expression and 
made equivocal replies, until finally the inquiry 
was definitely and testily put : " Do you not * 

recognize 



John Brougham. 59 

recognize it as a fact that ten minutes would 
be an impossible time for a lady to dress for 
the part?" "No," said John Brougham, Hetestifiesfor 
breaking out like the sun from behind a e p ain 
cloud, " No, it entirely depends on the celer- 
ity of her movements," and that clinched it ! 
My last memory of Mr. Brougham was a 
pleasant meeting one night in Louisville. I Meeting in 
was at one theatre, he at another, and we Louisvllle - 
both met in the hotel and sat down in the din- 
ing room together after the play. It was 
very comfortable in a strange place to find a 
friend from the days of auld lang syne, and I 
told him so. He said he, too, was homesick, 
aud longing to get back to New York. The 
word home was enough to bring up all sorts 
of tender memories to us both, and a child's 
face especially came before me, as I said : 
" Yes, but you are not a thousand miles away 
from your little boy." He was looking old 
•and worn as he said, with real feeling, " No, Mr . Brong . 
but I do want to get home to my dogs. " ham ' s home - 
John Brougham had more than his dogs todogs. 
love him ; but in his declining years and 
altered circumstances, what a tragic sentence 
from the popular idol of New York ! In this 
life we daily see a verification of the wisdom 
of the old Greek who admonished his son to 

make 



i prolific 
author. 



60 Yesterdays with Actors. 

make friends, and when the lad told his 
father in an ecstasy that he had two hundred, 
the sage philosopher replied : " You are 
fortunate, my son ; after all these years I 
have but one and a half : that is, one who 
would stand by me to the end, at any sac- 
rifice and another who would, provided it 
did not affect his own interest." 
Mr. Brougham John Brougham as an author would be more 
famous if his facile fecundity had been less. In 
recalling the mass of trifles which he dashed off 
for the needs of the hour, we forget that he has 
written a considerable portion of the original 
acting drama of the day in comedy, melo- 
drama and burlesque, continually in use, and 
likely to be drawn upon for the amusement of 
the public for generations, as the cycles of 
taste change and recur. Of course, the Irish 
humor of the man, racy, brilliant, inexhausti- 
ble, but ever sweet and pure, was his 
abounding gift. Take Pocahontas for ex- 
ample — a burlesque which ridicules no lofty 
idyl, whose music profanes no elevated theme 
yet is as purely funny as anything in the 
modern style, where every dear-bought laugh 
is at the expense of some shattered idol, for- 
ever debased by a ludicrous association. The 
contrast, which is needful for humor, is as 

easily 



JoJui Brougham. 6l 

easily obtained by the blasphemy of ideal 
forms in literature and music as by irrever- 
ence in speech. Here was a master of merry His sound 
fancies upon the simplest themes, the creator humor - 
of a quantity of innocent mirth. What a rare 
and real benefactor to his kind ! 



CHAPTER IV. 



Laura Keene — Agnes Robertson. 



Chambers 
Street Theatre, 



Theatrical companies, like other large 
bodies of working people, are not exempt 
from strikes now and again, and one of these 
occurred under the management of Mr. Wil- 
liam E. Burton of the 
Chambers Street Thea- 
tre, New York, who, with 
a constant change of bill 
the established custom 
elsewhere, kept his audi- 
ence convulsed with 
laughter two nights in 
the week for three years with Aminadab 
Sleek and Tooclles. If ever a man could 
believe himself independent, Mr. Burton 
might ; for he was the bright particular star 
of his own little firmament, and his satellites 
were not only brilliant, but unusually numer- 
ous. Beside a comedy company, including 
the handsome George Jordan, there was a 

complete 




Laura Kccue. 6j 

complete little operatic troupe, charming 
Rosalie Durand, the prima donna. But an 
act of injustice visited upon one created a 
spirit of discontent which spread like con- 
tagion, and in one week Mr. Burton found 
himself deprived of nine of his principal sup- 
porters — a very serious loss even with such 
a star. 

Miss Laura Keene, who was on the eve of 

Miss Keene 

opening the Winter Garden, thought to profit opens the 
by Mr. Burtons error, but on the opening WinterGarden - 
night, when the curtain rose on the fair man- 
ager with her enormous band all massed 
around her, it needed no very ancient mariner 
to prophesy that such a crew must sink the 
ship. There were at least three ordinary 
companies, and the weeding out, which must 
have been a painful and difficult task, soon 
began. Those of the rival establishment 
were retained however, Mr. George Jordan 
especially being an invaluable attraction to a remarkable 
Miss Keene s patrons. Some of the finest com P an y- 
actors were always found in her theatre. 
Think of Joseph Jefferson, E. A. Sot hem 
and Couldock in one cast, its minor parts 
filled as well. That the jewel is enhanced 
by the setting, none knew better than she. 
Some of the best plays were originally , 

1 / . Tlle original 

brought out by her. Dion Boucicault 's Col-CoiieenBawn. 

leen 



6 j- Yesterdays with Actors. 

leen Bawn for one, with Agnes Robertson 
"the pretty girl" and Laura Keene the 
"girl with the golden hair." The parts were 
made for them ; it would not be strange 
if they never fitted any others equally well. 
Of course, it was to Miss Keene s interest to 
make her theatre a success, but she was suffi- 
ciently individual in herself to be fearless of 
rivalry, and a small or petty thought of 
jealousy never occurred to her; besides, 
while these two women were alike charming, 
they were at the same time unlike enough to 
be foils. The one with her sunny auburn 
hair and magnificent eyes, which she opened 
wide upon you, but never rolled and ogled 
with, her sloping shoulders and slight 
form, dressed so exquisitely with Frou-Frou 
airy trifles, only suggesting a thistledown 
transformed into a woman ; and the other, 
of rounded, "vase-like" 
beauty, in the simple pea- 
sant garb that needed no 
adornment, for this was 
a time when curves, not 
angles were the fashion, 
and she was perfect. 
Agnes Robertson ! Is 
there not a charm in that name which makes 
many an old heart young ? She played in 

the 




Agnes Robertson. 65 

the United States for the first time at the 
Boston Museum. Queues were not formed 
in those days by speculators but the actual 
people, and it seemed all the people of Boston, 
jostled and squeezed each other, week after 
week, to enjoy any seating or standing oppor- 
tunity to see and hear that dewy, fresh and 
winsome little creature. Was there ever 
such a Maid with the Milking Pail, such a 
Cat turned to a Woman, such a Young Miss Robert- 
Actress, Bob Nettles, Andy Blake? How s ° n rt JP eculiar 
many will recall the thrill with which 
they heard the first notes of her bird-like 
voice before she tripped upon the scene ! 
Have those (then) young Harvard men for- 
gotten, who pawned their clothes for money 
to buy tickets for the "Fairy Star," until a 
set had only one available suit, to be used in 
rotation, while the rest stayed in bed until 
remittances came from home ? She was 
petted in society, for women were fascinated 
by her perhaps even more than men, and 
equally in drawing-rooms and among the 
garish adjuncts of the stage there was a 
bright purity about her, like the atmosphere 
of her own Scotland. Opposite the Museum 
in those days was Mrs. Mayer s ice cream K h b r . g 
saloon, a favorite meeting place for parties Robertson's ad- 
going to the play. A mob of girls would mirers - 

cluster 



66 Yesterdays with Actors. 

cluster about the sidewalk to await the exit 
of Agnes Robertson, and the more favored 
customers of the shop gathered at its win- 
dows, which Mrs. Mayer would empty of her 
showcase to make room for the curious 
throng. This was a trying ordeal for the shy 
and sensitive child, who had to make her flit- 
ting to the Tremont House under the search- 
ing and curious gaze of these indiscreet ad- 
mirers. Often, under good Mrs. Vincent's 
care, and beneath her ample cloak, the little 
form was smuggled past the eager eyes ; but 
one afternoon, careless or forgetful, " the 
young actress " came down the staircase 
alone right into the waiting crowd and 
frightened, she took to her heels and ran 
through Tremont street ! The girls followed. 
It was a real chase. The timid hare doubled 
into Tremont place, followed by the hounds, 
into the ladies' entrance, into the parlor, still 
pursued, up to her own bedroom, where she 
jumped upon the bed ! The room filled in a 
minute. With the last instinct of the quarry, 
she dashed out once more. Taking advan- 
tage of her knowledge of corridors and back 
stairs, she succeeded in shaking off the 
pursuit, and, locking herself into her maid's 
room at the top of the house, was at last free ! 
I know no measure of criticism for her charm 



Agues Robertson. 67 

in those days, and it may be pleasant to those 
who admired her then, if I tell them that 
Boston still remains "a sentiment" to Agues 
Robertson. 

Laura Keene was an exponent of the ele- Laura Kei 
gant "modern comedy," in which her delicate st - vle ot nc 
taste and feminine charm controlled the im- 
agination. It was not photography nor 
labored art, but a water color sketch, full of 
light and grace. A pity it is that, together 
with the high comedy of a former generation, 
it seems completely to have passed away, for 
such performances are the ideal amusement 
of a gay hour for men and women of the 
world, who do not delight to find themselves 
and their doings reproduced on the stage, nor 
to be betrayed into vehement and unpleasant 
emotion. 

As we have seen in other cases, however, 
managers who succeed must sometimes set 
aside their own preference, and, if them- 
selves actors, their own special gifts, and fol- 
low where the public leads: so Laura Keene Laura Ke« 
was driven in dark days to a variety show, vanet >' sh 
the first of its kind, perhaps, and in a play 
called Variety, without plot or plan or 
unity, she, in her own person and in " citi- 
zen's " dress, appeared in her own situation 
as a perplexed manager, puzzled what to do 

to 



68 Yesterdays with Actors. 

to regain the public favor. Fairy help pro- 
duced " samples " for approval, and these 
specimens were the piece. There were songs 
in character, a burlesque of Lady Mac- 
beth, tableaux, dances and, finally, a basket 
horse, and a miniature circus. One of 
the loveliest pictures I ever saw on any 
stage was The Rose, in which, through 
a large cloud aperture, appeared the great 
Jacqueminot, each petal a little pink clad 
child, fold within fold, down to a sweet cherub 
face, which was the heart of the living flower. 
But there is no greater game of chance 
than a theatrical venture, and this was Miss 
Keene's experience. Expensively mounted 
agement. pieces met financially with meagre results, 

the truth being that theatre-going people 
were fewer then than now, and a play that 
runs six months would last then but six 
weeks, even this being an uncommon 
success. So Laura Keene, like every other 
wearer of a crown, found it no easy task to 
Caresofrespon . smile while the heart ached with care. We 
sibie position, see it in every condition of life. The leaders 
of society, with all the alleviations that 
money and position can give, have all a 
special strain that responsibility of any 
nature must of necessity bring. Only the 
very few well placed, unambitious, mercifully 

sheltered 



sheltered lives are free from it, and the cruel 
tension to keep up to concert pitch, together 
with the intense pressure in time of doubt 
and failure in catering for the public, must 
be felt to be known. It seems as if I rather 
anticipated my share in those early days with 
Laura Keene. All women, I suppose, in girl- Myadorati-c 
hood adore some other woman. I adored her ; Keene"™ 
I found an excuse for every fault ; I waited 
her bidding, ran at her call, and meekly 
accepted the scoldings I got for my pains: 
and these were not a few, since she took ad- 
vantage of my devotion, and when anything 
in others deserved a rebuke, she invariably 
administered that rebuke to me, like the tutor 
who punished the fag when the prince was 
naughty. It is a fact, she was so in the habit 
of calling me to account for others to take 
warning, that on one occasion, when her com- 
plaint was a smell of " tobacco, tobacco from 
a pipe," Laura Keene, addressing men in 
general, from pure force of habit turned in 
my direction and riveted her eyes upon me 
with such severity that there was a universal 
smile at my expense. 

A stranger would undoubtedly have credi- 
ted me with the capital offence of smoking 
that pipe. 

On another occasion my fascinating tyrant 

saw 



yo Yesterdays with Actors. 

a female saw she had tried even my spaniel affection 

tyrant. ^ QQ £ a ^ ^^ sen di n g f 0r me tjO her 0WI1 

room, where I went with red and swollen 
eyes, her greeting was as follows: "What 
are you crying for, you little fool ? I didn't 
mean you, but Mr. Harold," but, as this cold 
comfort was dispensed with a downright 
shake, it somehow did not have the effect of 
healing my wounded feelings, so I turned my 
back upon her — yes, I did ; with a very large 
lump in my throat and tears streaming, but I 
did turn my back upon her, and spent a 
wretched afternoon in consequence. " Sus- 
pense is the condition of the spider, but most 
injurious to man." It surely is to woman, as 
I can testify. Oh, how long the hours 
seemed ! She would surely send for me, as 
she often did, to help find a pocket handker- 
chief, or search for a lost ring. But no mes- 
senger came ! I grew, as I flattered my- 
self, quite calm, indifferent, even dignified, 
under the fancied slight ; until, in our first 
scene of the Rivals that night, she subju- 
gated me completely with her penitence. 
sta ?e forgive- For, when I went on as Julia, the reception 
ness. f Lydia. Languish was so felicitous, her 

kisses so loving, her introduced line of ad- 
miration so enthusiastic, that, as she led me 
down to the footlights, there was a round of 

applause 



Laura Keene. fl 

applause given, and the next day a lady, who 
had been in the audience remarked, " How 
fond Miss Keene is of you!" Well, I never 
said then what brought that special fond- 
ness about. Years afterwards, when Miss Miss Keene's 
Keene and I met on equal ground, we had con ^ dence m 

1 ° her training. 

many happy hours together, and in one of 
them a good laugh over my scapegoat days ; 
but when I said, perhaps rather too feelingly, 
" Oh, you did treat me shamefully," the little 
lady instantly recovered her ancient attitude, 
as she earnestly rejoined : " Your character 
needed it. You would not be what you are 
but for my early discipline. It was all good 
for you." Perhaps it was ! At any rate, my 
admiration for her never waned, and she is 
one of my pleasant memories to-day. 

The resources of a woman's mind concen- 
trated upon a crisis certainly invest her for 
the moment with extraordinary executive 
ability. One night, when Much Ado About 
Nothing was to be given, it was found 
almost at the last moment that the costumes 
were not ready. 

All the women not in the cast were in- Miss Keene 
stantly pressed into service. Under Lanra meetsacnsis ' 
Keene's direction the unfinished garments 
were seivn upon the wearers. The time run- 
ning short, the distracted manager, who had 

her 



J 2 Yesterdays with Actors. 

her own hands full, and was still to dress for 
Beatrice, called the lords and attendants to 
stand before her, and sending to the paint 
room for a pot and brush, finished the borders 
of their "jackets and trunks " in black paint ! 
" Now keep apart ! Don't sit down ! Don't 
come near the ladies ! " with her spasmodic, 
quick speech and she was off to array herself 
in a twinkling for the dainty lady of Messina ! 
In executive ability Miss Keene was not 
alone among women. Mrs. John Drew, 
director of the Arch Street Theatre, Phila- 
delphia, has proved herself one of the best in 
this country or any other, while as comedi 
enne, she has no peer. Mrs. Conway held 
the reins of government in Brooklyn for many 
,_ years. At one time, in London, Miss Oliver 
was managing one theatre, Miss Swanborough 
another, Mrs. Bateman a third, Mrs. Bancroft 
{Marie Wilton) the fashionable " Prince of 
Wales." Indeed, their name is legion, and I 
do not remember any case where they have 
not graced the office, and where in this kind 
of administrative power the sex in any way 
may be considered deficient. 
An unfortunate The " Prince of Wales " brings with it the 
remembrance of a name well known through- 
out the English speaking world, of which Mr. 
Henderson told me the following story : 

When 



author. 



Laura Kcene. yj 

When he was manager of a theatre in Liver- 
pool he was sitting one day in his office cast- 
ing about for a stop gap — something it must 
be in the way of a novelty — when an un- 
known, shabby, but well-bred man was shown 
in, who begged a hearing for his play called 
Society. It was read, accepted, pro- 
duced on the following Monday, and made a 
grand success ! "This, said Mr. Henderson, Mr . Ro bert. 
" is the thing for Marie Wilton. She wants a son ' s success - 
new piece, and this must go to London." 

" It has been there," said Mr. Robertson, 
for he it was. " I took it to Miss Wilton. I 
have taken it everywhere, only to meet with 
rejection for two whole years, until I am re- 
duced to my last shilling and boots too ragged 
to walk another mile ! " 

When Peg Woffington offers to make Man- 
ager Rich read poor Triplet's tragedies he 
tells her it is " useless ; they have been re- 
fused." Charles Reade, who knew human 
nature so well, makes her reply : " Reading 
comes after, when it comes at all. Do you 
know I called on Mr. Rich fifteen times before 
I could even see him ?" But the merry soul 
laughingly continues : " I have made him 
pay a hundred pounds for each of these little Mr. iiobertson 
visits since." And so with the young un- ™" tesf ° rlhe 
known. Mr. Henderson wrote a note to Miss Wales." 

Wilton 



Hard work of 



Susceptibility 
caused by their 



7^ Yesterdays with Actors. 

Wilton making her look at Society through 
rose-colored glasses, and many a hundred 
pounds did the author take from her hands 
for his clever works, of School, Caste and 
Ours, year after year. Miss Wilton made a 
specialty of these delicious morceaux, and 
Mr. Robertson wrote to order for the " Prince 
of Wales " as long as he lived. His was not a 
very long life, but surely a satisfactory one, 
for after the discouragement and heart-weari- 
ness of these two years came the sun of hap- 
piness and good fortune in abundance. 

When the watchword of our life is labor — 
labor of brain and body, labor that occupies, 
as mine once did for seven consecutive 
months, twenty hours out of the twenty-four, 
there is scant opportunity or disposition for 
diversion. Again, some exceptional natures 
are rendered more sensitive by the nervous 
strain of reproducing tragic and painful char- 
acterizations. A conscientious endeavor to 
analyze feelings, that they may be the better 
able to portray, leaves them ready to suffer 
acutely in their own proper persons. 

The order of the Sock and Buskin is, how- 
ever, mainly composed of people so happily 
constituted that they can invest the common- 
est circumstances with a tinge of romance 
and by aid of their own odd twisting and 

mirthful 



Laura Keene. ^5 

mirthful spirit can find a merry side to the 
most gloomy prospect — especially with the 
large number who are not over-burdened 
with labor. So actors are, on the whole, a 
cheerful race. The ability to adapt them- 
selves to the lives of others takes them out of 
their own, and develops a light-heartedness 
that leaves them quick to profit by a happy 
thought and always ready for a joke. One 
night when we were about leaving Laura 
Keene s Theatre a peremptory request was 
sent to every dressing room that all might be 
left in good order. 

Those who have ever been behind the T 
scenes of private theatricals know something " 
of the untidy remainders that eight or ten 
young men can leave about, and the fact that 
this was not only a novel, but, as it was de- 
livered, an impertinent demand, caused the 
whole male sex to resent it. A rehearsal had 
been called and cancelled for the next day. 
Ordinarily these very young men would have 
revelled in their freedom, but curiosity 
brought a sharp attendance. To their sur- 
prise, from "the end unto the beginning" 
the place was in the most perfect trim. For 
some weeks they had complained of damp and t] 
cold in these same dressing rooms ; warmth 
had been grudgingly and seldom bestowed. 

To- 



Miss Keene 



76 Yesterdays with Actors. 

To-day every fireplace was ablaze, the debris 
of the night before was all hidden away, and 
an air of comfort given by some rugs and easy- 
chairs. Behind the scenes the flats were 
neatly stacked, and an effect of space thereby 
obtained. The baize on the stage at that hour 
was unusual, the green room shone resplen- 
dent with multiplied mirrors, the door ajar of 
Miss Keene s own office gave forth a ruddy 
glow and an odor of fresh flowers, and she 
herself greeted them with an added dignity 
and a spasmodic twitch of the gray glove, as 
she stood robed in dove color, with an apple 
blossom of a bonnet on her head, and, in a 
voice that always had a tear in it, requested 
the " actors to leave the building before eleven 
o'clock, for some gentlemen were coming." 
Of course this was too much ! 

The "gentlemen," as it afterwards ap- 
peared, were Dr. Bellows, who was at that 
^e'c^r"" ~ time writing a " Defence of the Stage," and a 
party of friends. The manageress had prom- 
ised to show them over her model theatre, 
and she sat awaiting them in the elegant sur- 
roundings of her own apartment, while the 
"actors" paid a scampering visit to theirs, 
and what they accomplished in that few min- 
utes who could repeat ? The grotesque char- 
coal sketches on the walls, that grew life-size 

beneath 



Dr. Bellows ex- 



Laura Keenc. jy 

beneath one artist's fingers, the wig block 
ornamented by another with the most rakish 
of wigs and dissipated whiskers, the gen- 
eral chaos of old shoes, brushes and paint 
boxes that were strewn around the tables, 
and, lastly, the incursion made into the 
" property room " for sticks and poles for the 
questionable articles of wearing apparel made 
up into scarecrows, and left standing in the 
middle of the room, as if bowing to the gen- 
tlemanly party ! 

Fortunately for "The Defence of the The Defence of 
Stage," the cicerone was too alert, and Dr. theSta «e 
Bellows was saved the practical jokers' wel- 
come and the shock it might have proved. 
But he doubtless marvelled somewhat at Miss 
Keeues mysterious and sudden closing of 
that door, and the confusion and rapidity with 
which she turned her guests "face about," 
and bent her steps in another direction. 

Like many another Englishwoman, Lanra Miss K . 
Keene was seen at her best in her own home, private. 
where she was a charming hostess, without a 
touch of affectation. Bubbling with delight- 
ful conversation, she yet had a rare and 
attractive reserve which stimulated the fancy, 
and was never broken with her most intimate 
friends. A woman's life, if not led in shel- 
tered places, must lose some of its finer fibres ; 



78 Yesterdays with Actors. 

or they must protect themselves by deep, 
shrinking sensitiveness and a veil of reticence. 
She had a frail physical constitution, which 
made the hard life of an actress a specially 
severe one to her, and her delicate tempera- 
ment brought its usual penalty of a great 
capability for suffering. She had much pain, 
her life had many struggles and failures ; and, 
though she passed away in her prime, those 
who loved her and mourned her, felt their 
sorrow alleviated in knowing she was at 
rest. The public missed a little — but 
mourned not, as is its wont — a name and 
presence that were potent spells for many 
years, and the mimic triumphs of the comedi- 
enne passed into speedy oblivion. She died 
in the comfortable faith of the Roman Catho- 
lic church. 
The assassina- One lurid gleam fell on the name of Laura 
Keene to preserve it from absolute forgetful- 
ness, out of the stormiest moment of Ameri- 
can history. She stood upon the stage, 
beneath the box where the tragedy of Abraham 
Lincoln s assassination was enacted that Good 
Friday night of 1865, and her robes were 
brushed by John Wilkes Booth as he rushed 
away for his dismal flight. She never made, 
or could bear to hear, the slightest allusion to 
that moment, and the horror and shock of it 
shortened her days. chapter 



tionofMr.L) 
coin. 



CHAPTER V. 

E. A. So them. 



The name of Sothern will long be pleas- The modem 
antly remembered, not for his Dundreary Sheridan - 
only — a delightful mimicry of the young 
lordling of the period — but for the jokes he 
wrote and wrought, which will be told in 
many a year to come of the Sheridan of our 
day. If a man may be known by his friends, 
Mr. Sothern was of a rare type, for his were of 
the best and warmest, and most loyal. While, 
on the one hand, he was at home with dis- 
tinguished people, who sought and flattered 
him, after his success in England ; he would, 
on the other, adapt himself most graciously 
and sympathetically to those who never heard 
of "Burke's Peerage." An apt illustration 
that "manners are not idle." 

There never was a character without flaw, Mr. sothem's 
therefore I do not claim this perfection f or *™* ble char " 
Mr. Sothern ; but since the bad is generally 
aggressive, 






8o Yesterdays with Actors. 

aggressive, speaks for itself and is acknowl- 
edged readily enough — for "a shrug of the 
shoulders will blacken a man's reputation " — 
let us speak of what good comes to the sur- 
face, and even go so far as to search for it, 
once in a while, — since some of the fairest 
flowers blossom under the snow. Mr. Sothern 
had the most obvious and pleasant virtues. 
His sound, sweet charity was known but to 
his intimates, and could only have endured to 
the end through a good use of the lesson of 
life's follies and failures. 
a lesson from I shall always thank a mender of broken 
china for teaching me a moral, which I re- 
peat, though commonplace enough except in 
its form. I saw a cup that I wanted on his 
counter marked "three dollars." "But," I 
said, "anew one is only two dollars." "I 
know it," replied the philosopher, "but there 
are one dollar and a half worth of rivets 
in that. It'll never break in those same 
places again ! " I did not buy the cup, but 
I benefited by the lesson, and often hope- 
fully dwell on the blessing recovered falls 
may be to character ; not only safeguards 
against worse, but because, though broken in 
many places, we have but to stand " erect on 
our rivets" — in other words, profit by ex- 
perience — and we need never fear weakness 
in the same spot again ! Twenty- 



E. A. Sot hem. 8 I 

Twenty-eight years ago Mr. Sothern was in- 
troduced to me by one now dead, whose affec- 
tion for his friend impressed me, for I knew 
it was founded on no youthful ardor nor blind 
enthusiasm, but mature respect and esteem. 
To-day I do not need to go out of Boston to 
find real, true friends who knew him for what 
he was, and loved him accordingly. He was 
a man of gentle blood, innate refinement and 
infinite tact, or his name would not have been 
a household word in the homes to which I 
can point, nor his memory treasured in the 
hearts of men, women and children alike. 
Mr. Sothern was by his father intended for „ ^ 

J Mr. Sothern 

the medical profession, but, proving rather a as a medical 
refractory pupil, he was at last joyfully ex- stu ent ' 
pelled by the faculty for his first practical 
joke, which was this. He had been assigned 
a study in the dissecting room, and, left alone 
to pursue it. Instead of applying the knife, 
from which he shrunk, together with its 
sanguinary tones, he resorted to his insepar- 
able palette, and when the professors returned 
they found "the subject" painted green from 
head to foot. For such a turbulent spirit, it 
is needless to say, the expulsion was not a 
sorry one. 

Having married the daughter of a dean, 
it was naturally expected of young Sothern 

that 



82 



Yesterdays with Actors. 



Charles Kean 
sees promise ii 



Mr. Soihern 
appears in Be 



Mrs. Vincent 
befriends Mr. 
and Mrs. Soth- 



that he would settle down. In order 
to do this, he shocked his family by going on 
the stage, where Charles Kean happened to 
see him, and spoke of him as having promise. 
An agent in London had orders from an 
American manager, who wanted people. The 
Englishman wanted a situation ; he might be 
good enough ; who knew ? So the young 
couple set sail. A very cold shoulder having 
been given them by their relations, they left 
their name behind them, and "Mr. Stewart" 
■ appeared in Boston, under the management 
of Mr. Leonard, as Dr. Pangloss. With the 
appearance of a lad of seventeen, exuberant 
with animation, full of vigor, brimming over 
with fun, such a " push-along," " keep-moving" 
Dr. Pangloss never was seen by the critical 
audience of our Athens. Nevertheless, the 
lad was clever, and professional success was 
only a question of time. A generous and in- 
dulgent manager was most kind in helping 
him to bridge time over. Not only was Mr. 
Leonard himself interested, but his wife, who 
went to her friend, Mrs. Vincent for assist- 
ance. These "innocents abroad" were mere 
children. Some one must take them in where 
they would be well cared for. She was 
that one. Babes in the wood, Mrs. Vincent 
must be the cock robin, and bring them food 

and 



E. A. Sot hern. 83 

and cover them with leaves ! Where Mrs. 
Vincent is known, it is superfluous to add that 
she characteristically yielded, and, though the 
good protectress does laugh as she tells the 
story of her "lively babies," there is a vein of 
retrospective terror as she describes "their 
nearly being the death of me." 

Spiritual manifestations were a new interest 
then. Mrs. Vincent took her guests to see . 

the "Rappers," and they took their cue from a medium, 
what they saw and .heard to introduce the 
most surprising phenomena into her quiet 
home. If she went early to bed, it was only 
to be startled out of it by the ringing of every 
bell in the house. To be sure, she was petted 
and fondled when they got hold of her, but 
as she sat with them for the next hour in the 
hitherto fancied security of her own parlor, it 
was to be agonized by seeing chairs and tables 
walking about the room — at the bidding of 
the so-called "spirits." Not content with 
the furniture, these same invisibles laid cold Mrs Vincent 
hands upon the poor victim herself, stabbed, crueiiv handled 
pricked and pinched, until visible proof was yspints - 
left in black and blue for days to come. Once 
she tried to retaliate, and really mystified her 
bewildered inmates, who for a moment half 
believed themselves that real spirits beyond 
their quelling had come among their own 

(which 



Yesterdays with Actors. 



Mr. J. A. 

Smith's faith i 




(which were only of the animal kind) for sud- 
denly J. A. Smith (" Smithy' 1 ) who was one 
of the circle round the 
table, cried out : " There 
is a hand upon me," and 
as they had no hand in 
this, what was it ? No- 
body suspected the sim- 
ple-hearted hostess, until 
she tried it again, and 
Mr. Smith caught her in the act, and her 
hand on his. But so deeply had the delusion 
wrought that the good fellow could not be 
shaken. " Of course it was you this time ; 
1 there is no mistaking a human touch. It was 
as different from the last as darkness from 
light. That was a marble hand — clammy, 
cold, with a grasp like iron." Withal there 
was a certain discomfort to Mrs. Vincent 
in all this, for, in spite of her one inno- 
cent attempt, there was something uncanny 
about her guests, who pretended immense 
horror and astonishment. The crisis was 
reached when, one day, Mrs. Stewart was going 
out with her friend in the rain, an umbrella in 
her hand. It is better to give it in Mrs. 
Vincent's own words : " Whatever happened 
to that umbrella I never can say, but just as 
we got to the front door, and she had it 

already 



E. A. Sot hern. 85 

already to open, up it went and disap- 
peared ! " 

In the days I speak of promotion was not a The schools of 
matter of purchase in the theatres. The^ 1 ^ 1 "^- 
reign of society-beauties on the stage had 
not begun. The standard of excellence in 
morals and manners was very much more 
lofty than it is now, and consequently every- 
thing was on a better basis. There were 
recognized schools where "practice" could 
be secured, and the earnest worker who could 
get into Wallack's under the old master was 
sure to rise. There we find Mr. Steivart. His 
first step of real importance was playing 
Armand to the Camille of Miss Matilda Mr. Sothemas 
Heron, who had spent months in Paris in her Armand - 
turn, learning to act the play by seeing Mile. 
Doche and Fechter night after night. Dun- 
dreary was Sothern, and Sothern Dundreary 
afterward, and the identity could never be 
destroyed. But they were fortunate who saw 
him perform other of his parts before that 
surprising creation bewildered their judg- 
ment. He played with astonishing delicacy 
and feeling in Camille, Suspense, The 
Romance of a Poor Young Man, and David 
Garrick. The natural and tender pathos of 
his sentimental roles brought tears of sym- 
pathy to the eyes as plentifully as when we 

laughed 



The American 
Cousin. 



8.6 Yesterdays with Actors. 

laughed till we cried, at his utter, inconse- 
quent drollery. And before his absorption 
into that monstrous misfortune, a one-part 
reputation, he was a most conscientious and 
faithful student of his art. Miss Matilda 
Heron was so delighted with Mr. Sotherns 
Armand that she engaged him to go on a 
tour with her, and for the first time he took 
his own name. After that all went well. He 
steadily rose until Latira Keenes production 
of the American Cousin, when he secured 
his fortune and made hers, for it was a critical 
juncture ; business bad and Tom Taylors 's 
comedy a last resort. Nothing was really ex- 
pected of it in itself, but every valuable mem- 
ber of the company was in the " cast," and 
Joseph Jefferson would of course be strong 
as Asa Trenchard. It is one thing to cast a 
piece, but quite another matter to make the 
people play the parts. After the reading, 
of the Mr. Coiddock refused Abel Murcot, Sothern 
si ™ em ou ' followed suit with Lord Dundreary, and there 
began a universal shaking of heads that spoke 
volumes of condemnation ! Actors are, as a 
rule, bad judges of plays, and it is a recog- 
nized fact that neither author nor critic can tell 
what will succeed with any surety. Lan- 
guage that convulsed the company at rehear- 
sal will not win a smile from the audience, 

and 



E. A. Sot hem. 87 

and a " situation " that may be nearly cut 
out proves one of the best points in a play. 
Notwithstanding all this, the human species is 
apt to run in droves, and Miss Keene knew 
that, once give a disorganizing element lee- 
way, the whole company would be more or 
less affected, and then good by to the com- 
edy. The cast must stand. Not only was 
Mr. Couldock too valuable and important to 
be out of the performance, while Mr. Sothern 
was growing in popularity every day, but 
they were the touchstones for general harmony, 
and Miss Keene cleverly suggested that they The actors 
should write the parts up and do what they all °wed to 
liked to improve them, to which they agreed, parts. 
Sothern s scenes were principally with his 
wife, who played Georgina, and this enabled 
him to elaborate them " at his own sweet 
will." In fact, it was not known at rehearsal 
just what he was going to do, and the letter 
from " Tham " astonished everybody, himself Suct 
included. The American Cousin ran to 
crowded houses for six months ! 

With such a card in hand, the game seemed 
his own, and he naturally turned in the direc- 
tion of London. " If Lord Dundreary is ap-^ ordDun " 

J L dreary in Lon- 

preciated here, what will he be there?" said don. 
the hopeful visionary. But experience found 

the 



88 Yesterdays with Actors. 

the path to be strewn with thorns, and Mr. 
Sothem spoke with real emotion of those first 
weeks which, lengthened with anxiety and 
bitter disappointment, seemed years. The 
Paper houses, custom of London theatres was to '■ paper" 
them, a practice not unknown in America, 
but there a generally recognized necessity to 
insure a favorable hearing. This method was 
as systematized as ever the "claque" was in 
Paris, and the persons having any sort of 
" claims " upon the theatre, being first accus- 
Freepasssys- tomed to receive free passes as an appro- 
tem - priate consideration in their relation to it, 

such as literary people, artists, actors, trades- 
men — whoever touched the profession in the 
most tangential manner — grew to regard 
these favors as a vested right. Indeed, the 
favor was in many cases done to the man- 
ager, for when he needed to fill his house, he 
could not give away his tickets without some 
apparent reason ; such gifts would be unused 
and neglected, whereas these channels could 
be employed with some appearance of pro- 
priety. But when real triumph came, the 

The free iist r J r 

suspended. enormous free list had to be cut down or sus- 
pended, and its members either became 
malicious enemies, or refused on the next 
occasion to be the catspaw of a shrewd en- 
trepreneur, 



E. A. So them. 8g 

trepreneur, who knew his docile public ; so 
ready to follow an apparent success, and to 
believe that one hundred nights in the capital 
proved a meritorious performance. The 
whole system of metropolitan successes be- 
came an advertising scheme for real money- 
making in the provinces. Actors and plays 
which spontaneously attract real audiences 
have of late broken through the necessity of 
these methods, and the evils of the free list of 
which I have spoken, and the fact that it had 
come to include large numbers of those who 
could and would soon learn to pay, caused the 
managers to combine in abolishing the abuses 
of the system. Then, however, it was in full 
force. Mr. Sothem had not " papered" the Mr - Sothern ' s 

r r failure. 

house. Mr. Sothem failed ! 

On this side of the Atlantic actors are 
hospitably met by fellow-workers behind the 
scenes, and there is great comfort in a 
friendly smile when all is strange and 
depressing, but you will not get it in London 
until you stand in the good graces of your 
audience. There is a general prejudice . , 

13 r J Inhospitahty 

against foreign invasion, and you are made of English 
very keenly to feel that you are a foreigner 
and had better go back whence you 
came, though you may even be of English 

birth. 



go 



Yesterdays with Actors. 



Mr. Buck- 
stone's confi- 



A London hit. 




birth. This was Mr. Sotherris experience, 
as it has been that of others, and he deter- 
mined to ask for a release and return in the 
next ship to the land of his adoption. But 
Mr. Buckstone, manager of the Haymarket 
Theatre, had nothing 
ready to supplant the 
American Cousin, be- 
sides which, he took a 
hint from the Dundreary 
family occupying the 
stalls, who, while they 
" never saw anything like 
it, yer know," nevertheless bore a striking 
resemblance to the " original." So, with a 
confident hope in a prosperous issue, 
although the loss, by the way, was really 
serious, Mr. Buckstone proposed "papering" 
the house for six weeks, and the result was 
that my Lord Dundreary became the cynosure 
of all eyes, and the American Cousin was 
played to crowded and enthusiastic audiences 
for four hundred and seventy-seven conse- 
cutive nights. 

Then began a life for Mr. Sothern that in 
his wildest fancies he never imagined, and in 
his sober moments he would probably rather 
have shrunk from, for, however delightful 

the 



E. A. So them. gi 

the companionship of noblemen may be, 
it is exacting upon the purse strings of 
one not equally endowed by the nation, and 
too much of a gentleman to receive from any 
man without reciprocating. Thus, after years Expense of 
of professional prosperity, but also years f fashionablelife - 
race horses and clubs and costly enter- 
tainments, Mr. SotJiern told me he must return 
to America and earn something for his old 
age. He had made one fortune and spent it ; 
he must now come where he could not only 
make but save ! We find excuse for the fol- 
lies of a prince in thinking over his tempta- 
tions, but from his very position the prince is 
hedged about and saved from many a pit- 
fall ; whereas, let any one reading these lines 
think seriously of the balance any ordinary 
man must have had to be received as a friend 
by a proud aristocracy — not their companion 
only, but a leader ! It seems to me that no, , „ , 

' ' Mr. Sothern's 

greater tribute could be paid Mr. Sothern single-hearted 
than for a looker-on to say that he was true nature - 
to himself throughout, inasmuch as he re- 
mained the same single-hearted man from 
first to last; at ease with his friends and 
able to place them at their ease — gentle or 
simple — and stanch to them, one and all, 
whether they belonged to the present or the 

past. 



g2 Yesterdays with Actors. 

past. Let me not forget what I have been 
told — that with a large correspondence and a 
busy life, he was never known to leave a let- 
ter addressed to his name unanswered, whether 
it bore the stamp of riches or poverty. No 
small test of politeness ! These same letters 
of Sotherri s were the very archetypes of droll 
composition, and are kept as curiosities by 
their lucky possessors. One friend I know 
received a most important looking envelope. 
Seeing "private" in large characters, it was 
wonderingly laid by for the moment, until 
quiet and seclusion could be had, and then 
the mysterious, official-looking document was 
carefully opened and a sheet of blank paper 
extracted. This was turned and shaken, the 
envelope inspected, the floor supiciously 
glanced at for what could have fallen out, 
even a sensation of alarm felt for what might 
be lost, before the joke was fairly understood. 
To one person he signed himself according to 
his moods, "Ever yours much and very," 
" Ever yours extra very," " Yours fanati- 
cally," " britannically, " "frightfully," "mon- 
strously," "cringingly," "suspiciously askew!" 
The following was sent on the outside of an 
envelope, and perhaps caused more pain than 
pleasure, since it was addressed to a shy young 
girl whose great dread was that it might have 

been 



E. A. Sot hem. <?J 

been read by some indiscreet person, and 
together with her name, get into the news- 
papers : 

"They positively refused your offer of 
$400,000 for the Brunswick Hotel here, but 
if you will make it $20,000 more, I think I 
can secure it for you. Terms would be $250,- 
000 cash, the balance on mortgage for three 
years at 7 per cent. If 'yes,' send me a 
telegram, and I will pay the deposit for you, 
though I cannot conceive what you will do 
with so large a private residence. Poor old 
Shogner, your godfather, died this morning Sho(rner , s 
in great agony, having accidently swallowed death, 
his tooth brush as he was parting his hair. 
Don't worry yourself, I will see him buried, 
attend to flowers, etc. Very, very sad ! 

E. A. SOTHERN. " 

At a house in Boston where distinguished 
people are not unknown, the maid one day 
astonished her mistress by announcing " The 
Duke of Wellington." There was a debon- The Dukeof 
air, calm, condescending grace about the Wellington, 
man that caused the well trained servant to 
transmit the extraordinary announcement 
with good faith. It is needless to unmask the 
famous hero. 

Upon the recovery of the Prince of Wales, 

after 



94 



Yesterdays with Actors. 



Mr. Sothern's 
dilemma. 



Escape in the 
role of a pick- 
pocket. 



after an illness some years ago, a holiday was 
appointed to express the national rejoicing. 
Special services were held at St. Paul's 
Cathedral, and the streets through which the 
procession was to pass were densely crowded 
hours before. The lines were drawn by the 
cordon of military and police, and the road 
left perfectly clear, as is the rule on these 
occasions, a rule which only the military or 
police dare to break. Sothem had promised 
to join a party of men at the club, and at the 
eleventh hour and a half, here he was, wedged 
in with the seething crowd on one side of the 
way, the faces of his smiling comrades at the 
club window on the other ; only a few yards 
between them, but the barrier was impenetra- 
ble. The laugh turned on the practical joker, 
for they knew there was no help for him this 
time. What was their surprise to see the 
crowd sway to and fro. Angry voices were 
heard — cries of "pickpocket." The strong 
arm of the law seized the offender, and 
Sothem in the hands of the police, is hur- 
riedly led in the direction of the nearest 
station, which well he knew was at a corner 
on the other side of the street. The club 
door once gained, a card verifying his whis- 
pered " I am Sothem ; all right, thank you," 
and five shillings to boot, enabled the "un- 
abashed 



E. A. Sothern. 95 

abashed " to escape to his own party in 
triumph. 

On another occasion the scene is a private Tiger hides the 
parlor in a hotel, where the actor and guests ro 
are gathered about the fire, while a pompous 
waiter is concluding the arrangements of the 
dinner table. He enters with a tray of rolls, 
places them carefully at the places, regards 
the distribution with a solemn eye, corrects 
with mathematical precision some slight 
irregularities and retires. No sooner has 
the door closed than Mr. Sothern whistles 
to his trained dog Tiger, who leaps up, takes 
one roll after another and places them under 
the sofa. The waiter returns with the nap- 
kins, and as he is assorting them, discovers 
with intense surprise that the bread is gone. 
Has his memory deserted him ? He thought a disconcerted 
he remembered the accuracy with which he waiter ' 
laid a roll at every place, and yet — he must 
have been mistaken; they are not there! He 
hurriedly repairs his omission, to the satis- 
faction of his tormentors, who remain clus- 
tered about the fire in conversation, while he 
retires into the adjoining room to await the 
last expected guest. No sooner is his back 
turned than Tiger repeats his trick. This 
time, as the waiter enters with the cooler, he 
stares at the table, rubs his head, — and 

finally 



96 



Yesterdays with Actors. 



Mr. Sothern's 
belated guest. 



finally the observant party discover, by the 
contemptuous gleam of intelligence in his 
impassive face, that he has settled the mat- 
ter to his mental satisfaction. The hungry 
convives must have eaten the rolls in his 
absence! No remonstrance can be wrung 
from his starched propriety, but he plainly 
resolves that no more rations shall be sup- 
plied until they are seated at table. The 
belated guest has not come, and in obedience 
to Mr. Sotherri s request the dinner is served 
-the gentlemen sit down. Then, and not 
until then, does the waiter reappear with his 
rolls, and the cold stab of the fork which every 
one receives, as it is set down, emphasizes 
his indignation. A step is heard. The host 
exclaims : " Quick, there is Fred. ; get under 
the table." No sooner said than there is a 
scramble to carry out the happy thought. In 
the confusion it is not perceived that Soth- 
em retains his seat at the head of the board. 
Fred, comes in, and he rises to greet him 
with his usual affability. " Hallo, where are 
our friends ? I thought I was awfully late." 
"Why," says Mr. Sothern, "I can't fancy 
what possessed them, but, strangely enough, 
as soon as they heard you coming they all 
a disconcert- got under the table!" And so, with a dis- 
concerted air, the betrayed conspirators had 

to 



E. A. Sothern. gy 

to crawl out, while Sothern looked on with 
courteous sympathy. 

I have before me an album of sketches Mr. sothem 
which is treasured by an . old friend of this as an artlst ' 
versatile being. It contains every sort of 
grotesque illustration of his private and pub- 
lic life — the theatrical supernumerary, the 
crushed tragedian, sleeping car scenes, camp 
life, landing a salmon, and what not — drawn 
with as delightful a humor as Thackeray s 
famous vignettes. There is a most spirited 
pen and ink drawing of two negro fencers 
standing at guard, on the outside of an envel- 
ope ; inspired, apparently, by the postage 
stamp, which is framed as a banner, carried 
over the shoulder of one of the combatants. 
Four strokes of the pen have produced a 
wonderful burlesque of the face of a distin- 
guished brother actor. Dainty little water 
colors, , full of sentiment and fancy, are 
interspersed. One hideous face, with a 
"boiled" eye, a true jettatura, is drawn on J^ e * ?£ ra at 
an envelope, with a legend written under it, 
" This is the likeness of a man who has fixed 
me with his eye, in the parquet. Pity me ! " 
This scrap of paper was sent to the box 
where the friend who owns this precious 
album was sitting, with a party of ladies, 
during one of Mr. Sotherris performances. 

What 






g8 Yesterdays with Actors. 

What was their horror when, standing di- 
rectly under them, he presently wove into 
his part the line : " That man has got his eye 
on me now," looking into their faces and 
speaking with the most deliberate distinct- 
ness. So certain were they that the entire 
audience must be privy to the confidence, 
that the whole group rushed to the back of 
the box and were seen no more. Yet they 
forgave him ! 

Mr. sothem's All this was only one side of the man's 
character, that fell in most happily with the 
exigencies of a bright moment. There were 
in this same nature minor chords far more 
precious to those who knew them. Among 
the charity funds of Boston there existed, 
during Mr. Sothern s lifetime, a perennial 
one administered by his oldest friend, be- 
loved by him and by multitudes among her 
townsfolk, for her great heart and good deeds. 
It was originally a hundred dollars, and she 
was admonished never to let it be exhausted, 
but to ask for more in time, and keep the 
treasury replenished, that the drafts upon it 
to the order of the unfortnnate might always 
be honored. Many and many a time was the 
unfailing cruse refilled by the giver, and 
when Mr. Sothern died, Mrs. Vincent held 

Mrs. Vincent's ' 

sothern fund, in her trust eleven dollars. She still has 

that 



E. A. Sot hem. gg 

that eleven dollars ! — for, she says, I can't 
bear to have it come to an end, and though 
I try to send no one away, I manage some- 
how to keep the sum made up, so that his 
work may not cease." 



CHAPTER VI. 



Ben. De Bar 

St. Louis and 
New Orleans. 



The Paris of 



Ben. De Bar. 
J i H. Hackett. 
James E. Murdoch. 



Matilda Heron. 
Mrs. John Wood. 
Mrs. Lander. 



i Ben. De Bar, the brother-in-law of Junius 
Brutus Booth, was a very successful manager 
and actor thirty years ago. He conducted 
two theatres, of which the good seasons were 
complementary; one in St. Louis, which he 
would open for the autumn months, and then, 
letting it for the winter, carry his company to 
New Orleans, bringing them back to St. Louis 
in the spring. New Orleans in those days, 
was the Paris of America ; there was a de- 
lightful French society, a French part of the 
town, French churches, French opera, and 
the principal boulevard had even its French 
side of the way. The season was short, but 
exceedingly gay ; everything of the best was* 
to be had for money, and money was lavishly 
spent. To enable us to meet the extravagant 

prices 



Ben. De Bar. 101 

prices we must pay, salaries that were thirty- 
dollars in St. Louis, were fifty dollars in New 
Orleans. 

There were incidental expenses that one 
never had elsewhere, and for which a stranger 
was totally unprepared. For example, I 
remember once being caught in one of the a tropical r 
frequent tropical rain storms of that r e- storm ' 
gion, and, after waiting half an hour in a 
shop, its Owner suggested that I should let 
him hail the next cab ; otherwise I shouldn't 
get home at all, as the "water was rising." 
In fact, the gutters and gratings over the 
sewers were rapidly being blocked by the 
imprisoned rainfall, so that walking would be 
soon impossible. A carriage came splashing 
past. He beckoned it, and while I was lift- 
ing my skirts and looking hopelessly at two a gallant a 
or three inches of water, the cabman, who man- 
knew his business, and was provided for the 
occasion with boots up to his waist, came 
toward me, and before I suspected his inten- 
tions, had, to my great surprise, safely landed 
me in the cab, having accomplished that feat 
by taking me in both arms, as is the custom 
in such a storm. He went through the same 
ceremony at my own door, and the entirely 
novel sensation was, perhaps, worth the five 
dollars he charged ; certainly the getting home 

dry 



102 Yesterdays with Actors. 

dry was, and as the next hour went by, and the 
next, and I sat at the windows watching the 
water rise first up to the level of one step, 
and then a second, my gratitude rose in like 
manner, until that cabman appeared in the 
light of my preserver, and his reward a mere 
bagatelle. At the third hour, the swollen 
rain, having nearly reached the point of en- 
trance into the house, the sky lightened and 
the storm ceased as suddenlv as it began. 
Waders came with carts and pitchforks, and, 
standing knee-deep in water, cleared the grat- 
ings of the flotsam and jetsam of the freshet. 
The streets emptied themselves so rapidly 
that in two hours the wooden sidewalks 
were perfectly clear, without trace of the 
deluge, save for the half drowned rats, ex- 
pelled from their haunts, whose dismal 
squeaks startled the wayfarer as he trod the 
loose planks, beneath which they had found 
refuge. 

TheMar-di The festivities of the Mardi Gras are a 

twice-told tale, and yet my memory lingers 
fondly on that holiday time in old New Or- 
leans, with its fantastically dressed crowds, the 
interchange of witty sallies, the throwing of 
confetti and the beautiful pageant of the even- 
ing. Glories now passed away as are those 
of the Roman carnival ! Gentlefolks kept 

from 






Ben. De Bar. IOJ 

from the streets during the day, which were 
possessed, for the most part, by the merry- 
making vulgar. At night they were all ablaze The n i g ht pro- 
with flambeaux ; every illuminated window cession - 
filled with people in full dress for the coming 
ball, watching the long train of cars which 
bore the groups of living statuary, draped 
all in white, admirably posed, like figures of 
purest marble — their motionless silence a 
striking contrast to the noise and tumult 
which was hushed for the passage of the weird 
and ghostly procession. Beside the private par- 
ties, there was the great masked ball at the 
St. Charles Theatre, which Mr. De Bar sur- 
rendered for the occasion. 

This favorite low comedian was of the Bur- Mr. De Bar's 
ton school, comically fat, with large blue eyes stvleof acting - 
and an innocent stare, a round, boyish face, 
with a portentous grin, genial, but never 
coarse. Even his Bayadere, in ballet cos- 
tume, illustrated by brilliant dancing and 
travestied feminine graces, never passed the 
limits of perfect propriety. 

Who that ever saw The Two Boys will The Two Boys . 
forget Ben. De Bar as one of them, in school- 
boy rig of short nankeen trousers, very much 
outgrown jacket, deep collar and several-years- 
too-small round straw hat, the good-humored 
rosy face trained in an aureole of flaxen hair ? 

Carlyle 



IOj. Yesterdays with Actors. 

Carlyle, in his most dyspeptic mood, must 
have been diverted at the sight of this " fat 
boy " mounting a stool to " speak his piece " — 
" Friends, Romans, countrymen " — with the 
sawing gestures of an awkward lad and a voice 
as tiny as his hat. We are told of the incom- 
parable Liston (who, by the by, always be- 
lieved TTimself a crushed tragedian) that he 
was unintentionally droll in the most common- 
place utterances, so that when he said, without 
a smile, " I wonder where the trees come 
from ! " the audience would be convulsed with 
Mr. De Bar mirth. The same with Mr. De Bar. It does 
not seem funny to write, but the innocent 
simplicity of speech and shrinking apology of 
manner with which he replied, when asked to 
" Step in a little," " I will step in, but I can't 
step in a little," was very, very funny to 
hear, and the stage would wait half a minute 
after it for the laughter and applause to cease. 
Ben. De Bar was not unknown in the East, 
but in New Orleans, where he made his first 
appearance in America, and in St. Louis, he 
held that peculiarly cheerful place in popular 
esteem which belongs to his line of business. 
A man of great integrity, he lost, as is often 
the case, in management what he had made 
as a star. I think that Mr. De Bar with Mr. 
Moses Kimball and Mr. Wallack, were the 

only 



.usly 



Ben. De Bar. 10$ 

only managers in this country who paid their 
actors in full through the disastrous season of 
1857. 

We used to go up and down the Mis- 
sissippi in the high pressure steamboats, and 
a most delightfully high pressure life we had 
on board these agreeable, but flimsy craft, in 
the gay, antebellum days. I have been told 
that people put off their journey for the fun of 
travelling with Mr. De Bar, and what halcyon Mr De Caron 
times those were for the waiters ! I have seen the Mississippi, 
half a score of chuckling auditors at the back 
of his chair at one time, while all the other 
guests were neglected. When a very small 
piece of beef was brought by one of them, 
Ben. De Bar was the originator of the joke, 
"Yes! yes! yes! That's it ! that's it ! that's 
it ! bring me some," causing the colored men 
to explode with mirth as they disappeared, 
with their heads in their aprons, into the 
steward's room. As he opened his big eyes 
upon the laughing table with an injured 
stare, he was even more comical than when 
intending to be so, a moment after, he said, 
thanking the boy for filling his order : " But 
you need never trouble yourself to bring me 
a sample again." 

There was dancing, music and card playing Life on the 
on these Mississippi boats, the pleasures ^ Iississippi 
heightened, 



106 Yesterdays with Actors. 

heightened, perhaps, by the constant expec- 
tation of possible snag, or fire, or explosion. 
There were picturesque scenes at the land- 
ings by night ; the pine torches glaring on 
the shiny black faces, in the busy task of 
"wooding up," the toil enlivened by quaint 
cries and catches of native melodies. Then, 
under way again, the pathway of the steamer 
lighted up by the shower of sparks which fell 
on the dark waters. 

I was a witness to one of the tragedies 
which often startled the thoughtless and 
happy, sporting so near the jaws of danger. 
There came on board one night, at a landing 
where we touched, a haggard man with a 
.colored nurse and a wizened infant. The fun 
had just ended, for it was late, and most of 
the passengers had gone to their state-rooms. 
But the wailing of the child brought some 
motherly hearts to the saloon, and the poor 
fellow's story soon found human sympathy, 
and the infant such comfort as its exhausted 
nurse seemed unable to give. He had been 
travelling with his wife, maid and two chil- 
dren on a vessel which had been snagged by 
night. Almost before they could get on a 
few clothes the steamer filled. The man 
knew that their only hope was to reach the 
boats, and, in the darkness, terror and con- 
fusion, 



Ben. Dc Bar. IOJ 

fusion, started with his family for the deck 
At the foot of the gangway the nurse and 
baby were separated from them. He turned 
back to seek her, telling his wife and little 
girl to stand still and wait for him. Every 
moment the panic was becoming greater, and 
the crowd of partly dressed, frightened people 
grew more and more distracted as they 
surged up and around the gangway. Some 
wanted to return for valuables ; others were 
being dragged, against their will, half faint- 
ing, out of the sinking ship. The man took 
the baby from the nurse, told her to follow 
him, pushed his way back to the place where 
he had left his wife, and taking the woman 
and child he found there, struggled to the 
deck, then to the boat, which they reached in 
time. As the steamer sank, by the a fatal n 
lantern's light, he saw that the woman and take - 
child were strangers, and realized that he had 
left his own dear ones to perish ! He had 
waited a week to recover their bodies, and I 
never can forget the subsequent landing at 
his own home, which he had quitted six 
weeks before. The dying infant was carried 
on shore, followed by two coffins. The poor, 
heart-broken man staggered after them, and 
fell into his friends' arms, with a cry that 
made the blood run cold. 

Another 



10S Yesterdays with Actors. 

Yellow fever. Another reminder of the darker possibili- 
ties of life was the discussion of the date of 
our going to New Orleans, dangerous until the 
latent scourge of the yellow fever was subdued 
by the first frosts. I must instance the thought- 
fulness with which, at a great pecuniary loss, 
Mr. De Bar would postpone the departure of 
his unacclimatized company until absolute 
safety was certain. We had, of course, a con- 
stant succession of stars, and, in addition to 
the enormous labor of nightly changes of bills 
with them, the stock company played alone 
on Sunday night, the great night of the week 
in New Orleans, and too profitable to share, 
especially since the manager reserved himself 
for these occasions. Custom has now famil- 

sunday acting, iarized Sunday amusements, but to some 
people these performances were a dark cloud 
that rested upon all the bright season, and I 
saw one sick room painfully haunted with 
remorse, and its pain accepted as a penalty 
for wrong doing. 

The strain of Looking back to these days, it is diffi- 

study - cult to believe that mind and body could 

have borne the strain of learning and 
remembering long parts of hundreds of 
lines night after night. I have heard actors 
say : " I could get up in my sleep and go on 
for Shakespeare." I remember one old lady 

who 



Ben. De Bar. log 

who told me she studied the Duchess of York 
in Richard III., when she was sixteen, and 
had never looked at the book since ; but all 
are not so fortunate, and in my own case, 
without having what is called a "quick 
study," I never retained a part for six 
weeks in my life. My practice was to re-read Reading parts 
even the most familiar part the night before over ni s ht 
a performance, and so confirmed a habit did 
this become that I felt utterly incompetent in 
an emergency. Once only do I remember 
speaking the words correctly without sleeping 
upon them, and that was when unexpectedly 
called upon to study Lady Macbeth. The 
part is short, but the importance of such a 
role and my total want of ability to cope with 
it, gave me no time for sleep. Indeed I was 
sleepless for thirty-two or thirty-three hours. 
Remember, this was not mere memorizing, 
but exciting absorption in a character which 
left the mind thrilling and the eyelids quiver- 
ing long after it was over. 

There was a certain train arriving at four To bed at four 
o'clock in the morning, the whistle of which in the mornin &- 
was the earliest signal for giving up my task 
for many months ! 

It is perhaps because the river journeys 
were such rare interludes of rest that retro- 
spection pictures them as such oases. 

Matilda 



no 



Yesterdays with Actors. 



Matilda Her- 
on's eccentri- 
city. 



Letter on a 
hotel wall. 



Speech ii 
Louis. 



Matilda Heron, that most impulsive, large- 
hearted and erratic being, the founder of the 
"emotional" school, came to us in St. 
Louis, where she was a great favorite. As a 
pupil of Peter Richings, she had a careful 
training, but her chief claim to public interest 
in her early career lay in eccentricity, before 
as well as behind the curtain. I once fol- 
lowed her at the Planters' Hotel, St. Louis, 
and occupied the room she had left. On the 
wall, besides the fireplace, she had written in 
immense crayon letters, "Easter Sunday. 
God bless St. Louis! Matilda Heron." 
She used to make vehement and passionate 
speeches when she was called out. I remem- 
ber this conclusion to one in the same city : 
"You were the first people to take me by the 
hand. I thank you for this beautiful audi- 
ence. I love you. I owe to you my hus- 
band. I owe to you my child. I have done 
what I could for you. For your sake I have 
called her Louise?' She was playing a very 
successful engagement, and I went to her for 
assistance in behalf of two children of a 
deceased member of the company, whose ex- 
penses must be paid home, and who were to 
leave by the same train that she was to take 
the next day. I did not think Miss Heron 
particularly regarded what had been said, but 

when 



Matilda Heron. ill 

when she was seated in the car the following Ad, 

, , , , scene with two 

morning, and our good treasurer appeared ornhans . 
with the two interesting orphans, she rushed 
to them, and crying : " What are these ? Are 
these the poor, dear things?" knelt in the 
aisle, clutched them to her breast, and, with 
her free hand emptying her pockets, show- 
ered them with gold pieces ! When Sarah 
Siddons took a potato, she stabbed it ; when 
she muttered to the salesman, over a piece of 
print, "Will it wash?" she made him shake 
in his shoes. Matilda Heron was dramatic 
to the last degree on every occasion. She 
was to follow me in an engagement I was 
playing in Indianopolis, and arrived on Sunday objects to a 
evening. When I went to call upon her in knockin s- 
her room, which was close by mine in the 
same hotel, there was an intermittent knock- 
ing going on overhead and she asked me what 
it meant. "Were they putting down carpets 
on Sunday?" I said they must have been 
doing it all the week, for the noise had dis- 
turbed me by day and sometimes by night. 
Miss Heron said she should not be as patient 
as I had been, and instantly rang the bell. 
When the waiter came, she told him, with a 
most tragic manner, that "the noise must 
cease." After waiting half an hour, while it 
continued as before, she passionately pulled 

the 



Yesterdays with Actors. 



Rebuke to tl 
hotel clerk. 



Miss Heror 
wardrobe. 



the bell again and sent for the clerk. Throw- 
ing her shawl about her like a Roman toga, 
with a commanding gesture, she repeated : 
"This noise must cease. It is sinful to put 
down carpets on Sunday night." The man 
reluctantly explained that he could not stop 
the knocking, because it came from a 
coffin maker, whose workshop was overhead. 
"All the same," said Matilda Heron, "it 
must be stopped. I'll have no such doings 
during my engagement!" And, cowed by 
her Medea tone and attitude, the functionary 
bowed and retired, apparently quelled into 
obedience, and prepared to stop coffin making 
and funerals for the next two weeks in 
Indianapolis ! 

Miss Heron was one of the first actresses 
who made a point of wardrobe, and had her 
costumes described in the newspapers. She 
had excellent taste, and, while she studied 
Doche in Paris for many months, she also 
studied millinery and dressmaking. Her 
laces were such as any lady might have worn 
in a ball room, and she told me that the large 
square veil of real point that she wore in 
the first act of Camille, she intended, some- 
what incongruously, to bequeath to the 
church, of which she was a member, for an 
altar cloth. She generously gave me per- 



J. H. Hackett. iij 

mission to play her version of La Dame 
aux Camelias. One day in New York, after 
her retirement, I received a line from her 
saying : " Please let two little boys see our 
Camille." I sent for the boys, and asked 
where she was, for it had been months since 
she had disappeared from the knowledge of 
her friends. It was an obscure address, and 
I found it with difficulty — she had been ill, 
and owed her life to the good Sisters who 
nursed her. Matilda Heron was now living 
in one room, with poor surroundings, in 
greatly reduced circumstances, changed in changed c 
manner and appearance, reminding me, as c 
she stood there in her black dress, a long, 
gray curl falling on either side of her face, of 
Marie Antoinette after her sorrow. One 
jewel she had, beyond all price, her little 
child, still daintily dressed and cared for, 

I treasure a characteristic little line she 
gave me — in the whole interview the only 
touch of her former self — addressed to 
George Ryer in London, which says : " Give 
her my Pearl, and play in it yourself with her. 
Love me a little, and think of me a great 
deal, as of old." 

Mr. De Bar was the promptest of mana- Mr D 
gers. His punctuality was the cause of an puncti 
unprecedentedly meagre Falstaff in the first ager ' 

act 



ii4 



Yesterdays with Actors. 




act of the Merry Wives of Windsor. Mr. 
Hackett was the star, and 
very late on this occa- 
sion. Nobody suspected 
it of his conscientious 
and trustworthy habit, 
and lateness was never 
allowed by Mr. De Bar. 
The Falstaffian paunch 
is a rubber bag, which is blown up. When 
the moment came for the rising of the cur- 
tain, the call boy rushed to the prompter with' 
a "Stop, stop, Mr. Hackett isn't blown up 
yet." Mr. De Bar replied : "Then he will 
have to play as he is ; my curtain waits for 
nobody," and up went the curtain, and on 
went Mr. Hackett, his doublet falling about 
him like a petticoat, until an opportunity 
offered to apply the bellows. Anne Oldfield, 
according to Charles Reade, says, when her 
maid, full of enthusiasm for her inspired mis- 
tress, demands: "Oh, do tell me your feel- 
ings in the theatre." "Well, Susan, first I 
cast my eyes around and try to count the 
house." It is odd that my two memories of 
Mr. Hackett relate to little slips in one who 
was so faithful and true to his professional 
duties, but this one again occurred because 
nobody thought he could ever need ordinary 
assistance, 



Mrs. John Wood. 115 

assistance, especially in the character which 
he knew in every tone and line. So the 
prompter never thought of Falstaff, and he 
and all the actors and the audience were para- 
lyzed at a dead stick on Mr. Hackett 's part, 
from which he was finally rescued by the 
help of the Mr. Ford, who gave him his 
line and set him going after considerable con- 
fusion. I never saw more mortification than 
that with which the great Shakesperean con- Mr Hackett . s 
fessed that, having had some doubt of the mortification. 
"returns" of the treasurer, he had lost his 
cue in "counting the house." And then, as 
his good humor returned, how quaintly he 
said, " His thefts were too open. His niching 
made me an unskilful singer. I kept not 
time !" This was neither in New Orleans 
nor St. Louis. 

Mrs. John Wood, the 
ideal soubrette and the 
best burlesque actress I 
ever saw, came to New 
Orleans after her engage- 
ment at the Boston Thea- 
tre. She played farce, 
extravaganza and the 
Planche burlesques with innocent impudence 
and saucy effrontery, which made you catch 
your breath for fear of what might come — 

but 




Il6 Yesterdays with Actors. 

but never did ! Her Conrad the Corsair and 
Invisible Prince, wore a swashing and a 
martial outside. So much so, that in play- 
ing the opposite parts to her, it was with a 
perfect conviction that she was the frank, 
bold boy she represented. Of course, Mrs. 
Mrs. Wood's Wood was full of the direct approach to her 
acting. auc jj encej which her style of acting permits, 
and each individual in it felt taken into the 
confidence of her brilliant by-play, winged by 
the arrows which shot from her magnificent 
eyes straight to every susceptible heart. She 
was a very effective singer and dancer, and 
had every personal charm a woman could 
possess. Her reign has continued on both 
continents with uninterrupted success for 
more than thirty years, and she is still an 
established favorite on the London boards. 

Mr. James E. Murdoch 
was another of Mr. De 
Bar s stars. At the age 
Mr. James e. 'IrVx 1§ff) of seventy-four, though 

he no longer lags super- 
fluous on the stage, he 
is yet capable, in occa- 
sional readings, of arous- 
ing an audience to the enthusiasm which he 
kindled in his incomparable light comedy 
parts of yore. His Young Mirabel was as 

famous 



Murdoch. 




Javies E. Murdoch. Iiy 

famous in England as in America. Born an A £amous light 
actor, though not of theatrical lineage, he comedian- 
served a patient apprenticeship after a con- 
siderable success on the amateur stage. Mr. 
Murdoch, like most actors of his time, played 
the whole round of the drama, Hamlet one 
night, the Inconstant the next. These large 
foundations tended to produce better special 
results than the narrow training which young 
people get nowadays, in playing a few parts 
in a season, not acquiring a free style but 
their leaders' mannerisms. Mr. Murdoch, 
like the elder Booth, had none. It would 
have been difficult to have made him food 
for burlesque. 

His natural temperament seemed more 
fitted for the impersonation of tragedy 
than comedy, though his comedy was like 
the froth of champagne. He was a seri- Mr. Murdoch's 
ous and profound scholar, and intensely taL^nts!*" 
interested in social and political affairs. As 
a Swedenborgian he had a strong and beauti- 
ful faith in the unseen world. I remember 
one night, when the talk ran upon a friend 
whom he had loved and lost, he reproached 
himself for speaking of loneliness, and said, 
while pointing to a vacant chair: — "She is 
there! " 

A devoted patriot, when the war broke Patriotism. 

out 



u8 



Yesterdays with Actors. 



Mrs. General 



out he gave up his career as inconsistent 
with the serious purpose of the times, 
packed his trunks and vowed never to unlock 
his theatrical wardrobe until peace should be 
proclaimed. That must have been a strange 
scene in Milwaukee when, as he was playing 
Hamlet, the news came of Lincoln s first call 
for troops, and Murdoch, refusing to finish 
the piece, sent his audience home in an en- 
thusiastic glow of patriotism with a burning 
speech, delivered from the stage, "accoutred 
as he was !" His health did not allow him to 
serve actively in the field, but he held a staff 
position for some time under General Rous- 
seau, and by personal efforts and readings for 
the benefit of the Sanitary Commission, he 
contributed largely to the national cause. 

One word here of another bright jewel of our 
order, Jean Margaret Davenport, who married 
Colonel, afterwards General Lander, in i860. 
Only two years later he died from the effect 
of wounds received in battle, and for love of 
him and in commemoration of his heroic 
death, his widow took upon herself, with her 
mother's assistance, the entire charge of the 
hospital department at Port Royal, S. C. So 
long as Florence Nightingale 's name is revered 
in England will Mrs. Landers devoted labors 
be remembered in America. Not that there 



Mrs. Lander. Iig 

is anything inconsistent in these with a labor- 
ious and conscientious life as an actress, from 
the hardships of an infant prodigy to the 
brilliant success of a crowned queen of the 
stage. But the world will have it so. 

I am always struck with the common belief ^, . ,. ,. 

J The belief in 

that everybody knows enough to act. The native talent for 
apparent ease is borne in upon them, and actms * 
the happy conclusion is that, with "native 
talent," which all are sure they possess, 
there is little or nothing to learn. I 
often think of the countryman who com- 
plained of the great physician charging 
"a guinea for writing a little bit of paper," 
to which the doctor replied : " Ah, my friend, 
but you must remember how long I have 
been learning what to write on that little bit 
of paper." Mrs. Lander, like Edmund Kean 
and scores of others in theatrical families, Mrs - Lander 

. . goes on the 

went upon the stage before she could speak sta g e as a child, 
plainly; and yet it is such as these who are 
not ashamed to tell you "the responsibility 
of standing before an audience — the proper 
ambition to excel for my own sake — kept me 
cold from nervousness up to my last appear- 
ance." It is in these families of actors — 
peace be to their ashes — we find whole gen- 
erations who lived lives of constant study 
and hard work, while their private virtues 

equalled 



120 Yesterdays with Actors. 

Ron of Honor, equalled their professional distinction. To 
quote a few "of yesterday," I instance, first, 
Mrs. Warner, a contemporary of Mrs. Charles 
Kean, who, together with Mrs. Kean, in her 
hour of sorrow, received every tribute of ad- 
miration and respect, even the womanly sym- 
pathy of the Queen herself; Mrs. Fanny 
Kemble and all her distinguished family ; 
Miss Helen Faucit, whose husband, Sir Theo- 
dore Martin, was commissioned to write the 
" Life of the Prince Consort." Among our- 
selves there is a roll I am proud to enumer- 
ate ; Charlotte Cushman, Jidia Dean, Eliza 
Logan, Kate Bateman, Caroline Richings, 
Mrs. Farren, Mrs. James Wallack and many 
and many another. What had these of the 
frivolity and vanity which are the supposed 
Laborious lives temptations of stage land ; some working from 
of actors. babyhood — all spending their best years 
in the drudgery of their profession ? But 
then, it was recognized by them in this, as in 
other arts, that the entrance was narrow, long 
and rugged. They must pursue it step by 
step ; there was no leaping over the wall. 
Acting to an audience, like singing in opera, 
was a final result of long and severe practice. 
We cannot all possess the scholarly mind of 
James E. Mtcrdoch. He is a rarely gifted man 
among the learned. We cannot all have the 

strength, 



Mrs. Lander. 1 21 

strength, charity and opportunity combined 

that made Mrs. Lander more welcome in the 

last hour to those dying soldiers than ever 

she was in her glorious moments upon the 

stage ; but as these names are written and as 

these names are read, who will not join with A s P ri s of r 

me in placing one more sprig of rosemary in ma °" 

the wreath they wear ? Who among us does 

not wish, with me, that the path they trod on 

their way to fame were the only path ; that 

their art might never be profaned ? 




CHAPTER VII. 

Boston Museum. 



In the spring of i860, Barry Sullivan, the 
famous Irish tragedian, came to St. Louis. 
Before him came his reputation as an over- 
bearing, autocratic actor, of brilliant and 
eccentric gifts, who carried delight to his 
audience, but terror behind the scenes. But 
the kind heartedness of his race and his own 
courtesy made him gentleness itself to the 
young manager, painfully overwhelmed by 
the cares of her situation. Indeed, Mr. Sul- 
livan made me the most flattering offer to 
join him in his proposed tour through Cali- 
fornia, Australia and the English-speaking 
world and, though this was declined, I be- 
lieve I owe to his kind offices when he left 
us the tender that was made me of an 
engagement 




Boston Museum. I2J 

engagement at the Boston Museum by Mr. Engagement ai 
E. F. Keach. Consider- the Museum b > 

Mr. Keach. 

able correspondence had 
taken place, terms and 
conditions were arranged 
when, in consequence of a 
misunderstanding on my 
part, everything came 
near falling through. Because Mr. Keach 
was in Philadelphia managing a theatre dur- 
ing my epistolary knowledge of him, I located A misundcr- 
the engagement he offered there and, being 
a stranger to Boston, when I found it was 
for "the Museum" the title startled me on 
account of its association with places of 
similar names where the dramatic standard 
was not high, so that I ended by sending a 
refusal in a tone of sincere regret, and went 
to sleep satisfied with the wisdom of my 
decision. At seven o'clock the next morning Avoicecallsm( 
I awoke with a startlingly distinct impression to Boston. 
of a voice in my ear which said, " Go to Bos- 
ton, " so potent that I reversed my decision 
and dispatched a message to Mr. Keach then 
and there: "Accept your offer for the sea- 
son at the Boston Museum. Don't mind 
letter." It was an auspicious voice, for it 
led me to fellowship with a company of 
excellent actors, governed by an admirable 
manager, 






124. Yesterdays with Actors. 

manager, to my present home and some of 
friends. the truest, clearest, best of friends. 

I have a kind memory of my first meeting 
with Mr. Moses Kimball, who was much 
Mr Kimbaii a ^ out the Museum, of which, together with 
gives me a his brother, he was then the owner and, in 
his greeting, asked if I had seen anything of 
Boston. I told him I really did not know 
what I had seen, for the streets were so 
crooked that, if I started out for a long walk, 
I often brought up at my own door in a few 
minutes, and if I attempted to go straight to 
the Museum I lost myself for an hour or two. 
Mr. Kimball laughingly took a card and 
made a chart of the streets in my course ; 
which, absurd as it may seem to those who 
have a bump of locality, was referred to as a 
guide for weeks. 
Behind the Writers of sensational literature love to 

scenes. draw highly colored pictures of "behind the 

scenes." Let me describe the charmed pre- 
cinct and its conditions as they existed in 
the Museum when I first entered its service ; 
very little changed now, very little different 
in any American theatre. Its life is not the 
wonderful stroller's romance of Wilhelm 
Meister. Nay! Rather as commonplace a 
dr3ge°ry!' ^ routine as that of the loom or the counter. 
Of course, from all this monotony blossoms 

the 



Boston Museum. 125 

the play of fancy, the music of beautiful Ian- pi eaS ure of 
guage, the joy of interpretation, forgetfulness actin g- 
in a sublime thought, the sympathy of the 
heart of a great audience ; but I would say 
most emphatically that, except for this artis- 
tic intoxication, which is wholly impersonal, 
the stage in my time was a dingy, sordid 
workshop, where there was infinitely less Reasons why a 
temptation for young women than in any ^ v g ^ fe t ^ ffers 
breadwinning career whatever, since a right tions. 
minded girl could not help living up to a 
higher and better standard in her endeavor to 
understand the words she spoke, educating 
herself for the demands they made upon her. 
Beyond all this, even if she were not of very 
strong principles ; as Dr. Watts says Satan 
himself is looking out only for idle hands to 
do his mischief, these were not found be- 
hind the scenes of the Museum. 

We entered by a narrow door from one of The stage door, 
the galleries, which gave at a touch, but fell 
back as quickly with the force of a ponderous 
spring. A doorkeeper, seated at the end of 
a narrow aisle some three feet wide between 
enormous piles of dusty canvas, permitted 
none to pass except the actual employees of 
the theatre. About the same space between 
the inner edge of the scenery standing in its 
grooves and the masses stacked along the 

walls, 



126 



Yesterdays with Actors. 



Difficulty of 
motion. 



walls, allowed a scant passage, down the 
Narrow ways, side of the stage. At one corner, where the 
private box is now, was a "property room," 
behind that the manager's office; on the 
opposite side, a small space of, perhaps six 
feet wide at one end tapering down to four at 
the other, was the green room, its furniture 
a bench about the wall, a cast case, a diction- 
ary and a mirror, over which was inscribed 
"Trifles make perfection." To move about, 
except warily, on business, was at any time 
difficult ; at night, when carpenters and scene 
shifters were active, a veritable running the 
gauntlet. Two dressing rooms in the place 
of the two upper boxes were approached 
by stair-cases as steep as ladders, and 
these were assigned the "leading" man and 
woman. The others had little "bins" under 
the stage, and crowded as closely by the 
machinery of the "traps" and other sub- 
terranean contrivances as the space above. 
Well was it for us if we failed to stumble 
over "set" pieces and properties. I think 
all that saved me from many a severe fall 
was the caution inspired by the fear of 
spoiling fine clothes. I remember, with pain- 
ful distinctness, my injured feelings when, 
squeezing through a tight place, I heard my 
satin "fray" as it brushed the rough edges 

of 



Boston Museum. I2J 

of the scenes, or in a hurried entrance felt 
the obnoxious nail that caught my lace 
flounce, while I had to go straight on, what- 
ever stayed behind ; for the stage must not 
wait! 

A hasty glance at the "call" in the green The intervals 
room for the coming plays, a word of cour- actm °- 
teous greeting for our fellow-actors, the last 
conning of the part ; such were the interludes 
between the appearances on the stage, and 
a more work-a-day, matter-of-fact place it 
would be hard to find. 

That zealous manager, Mr. E. F. Keach, 
placed the Boston Museum stage and com- ^Museum 
pany in full and complete equipment as a 
first-rate theatre from being something of a 
mere adjunct to the wax figures and the 
curiosities, which good people frequented 
who were afraid of the very name of theatre. 
He began his season of i860 and 1861 with 
a round of the "old comedies." 

I can never forget the overwhelming im- wiiiiam wa 
pression William Warren made upon me in ren- 
these classic plays, though he had such co- 
operation as that of Mr. W. If. Smith, Mrs. 
Vincent, Keach, Ring, Whitman, J. A. Smith 
and others. Familiar with the Sir Harcourt 
Courtly of William Rufus Blake, regarded His sir Har- 

senta- c 
tive, 



128 Yesterdays with Actors. 

sir Peter Tea- tive, while Mr. Warren s fame, by his own 
choice, was chiefly local, I found his perform- 
ance unsurpassed and unsurpassable; and, 
greater yet, his Sir Peter Teazle, with all 
its delicacy, feeling, humor, exquisite refine- 
ment and lofty bearing. Criticism is not the 
object of these lines, but a fellow 'actor's trib- 
ute means something, and mine was unfeign- 
eclly paid to this wonderful creation night 
after night, all by myself, as I listened be- 

a feiiow actor's hind the screen to his pathetic provision for 
me; blinking back the tears in fear of red 
eyes and nose under my white wig ! 

Oh ! the pity of it, never to hear again the 
broken, quavering, gentle voice, — "If I were 
to die she will find I have not been inatten- 
tive to her interests while living!" 

Rachel's criti- Rachel may well have exclaimed of Wil- 
arren. ^^ Warren'. "He is one of us." This 
great artist belonged to the best French 
school, as can hardly be said of any living 
English-speaking actor beside. The fine art, 
the fruition of study, the faithfulness in 
detail, all were there. There were no sketchy 
bits, to be varied night after night, as in- 
spiration might suggest or humor dictate. 

It is said that the hardship of the actor 
lies in the fact that his work is all done be- 
fore the public eye, so that if he has to feel 

his 



Boston Museum. I2g 

his way in his part, or is out of his depth, 
he must struggle on in the full glare of 
criticism. 

Mr. Warren was often, in the exigencies of Mr. warren's 
the cast, required to play unworthy and cer- ferLTparts. ' 
tainly unsympathetic parts. But it was 
always the same ; the creation was complete, 
uniform, and fulfilled to its absolute possi- 
bilities, the work of time and study, not of 
the moment. Many actors, and some of the 
most admired, will turn about, even from an 
heroic declamation, make wry faces or" play 
tricks to disturb the equanimity of their 
fellows, and many more will enter the side 
scenes with an instantaneous transformation 
to their own personalities. But Mr. Warren 
seemed to put on his character with his dress. Accuracyof 
Scrupulously particular in speaking the study - 
author's own words, he was seldom seen 
reading a part ; in fact I have known him to 
receive a long Madison Morton farce over 
night and recite it at rehearsal the next 
morning without prompting. 

Perhaps the very perfection of his own work 
may have made him the more patient with the 
short-comings of others. Certain it is, in five 
years of daily intercourse and co-labor I never 
heard from him an unkind or impatient word 
at any fault of another. There could hardly 

be 



IJO 



Yesterdays with Actors. 



The innocent 
blamed for the 

guilty. 



profession. 



be a severer test of temper and manners than 
the accidents of a theatre. The man who 
"sticks" seldom appears to the audience to 
be the offender, but the one who must wait 
for his cue. The scene shifter or the car- 
penter or the property man may blunder, but 
the sin is visited upon the actor. So there 
is often a sharp rebuke, couched in strong 
words, behind the scenes. Satisfied with the 
conscientious performance of his own duty, 
he left others to do theirs or not as they 
might, and avoided comment or reproach. 
No minister of state nor learned judge 
could have moved among his peers with more 
dignity, delicacy and reserve than William 
Warren in the bustling, busy throng of the 
little world behind the scenes. 

I would not be understood to imply that there 
was the least withdrawal from the sympathy 
of his brethren. Born of actors' blood and 
' with many illustrious ties to the stage which 
he adorned, he had that pride in his profession, 
and that quick and hearty concern in every 
member of it, small or great, which is one of 
its most honest characteristics. 

It is well known how difficult it was before 
his retirement to persuade Mr. Warren to 
take part in social life. The innumerable 

efforts 



Boston Museum. JJI 

efforts made to lure him into various parties 
of pleasure were almost invariably baffled. 

" Concentration is the secret of strength, concentration 
Friends, books, pictures, lower duties, talents, strength* ° 
flatteries, hopes — all are distractions which 
cause oscillations in our giddy balloon and 
make a good poise and a straight course im- 
possible. You must elect your work. You 
shall take what your brain can and drop all 
the rest," says Emerson, and he quotes in- 
stances in the lives of the greatest men to 
prove it. It was because Mr. Warren was 
an actor through and through, and would 
keep his energies unfettered for his great 
career, that he lived his life apart. 

But what the stage has lost, society has Mr. wan-en in 
gained and it is no longer an impossible pleas- socialllfe - 
ure now to meet the fine marked face and 
courtly figure in drawing room and dining 
room. Filled with anecdote and witty repar- 
tee, no wonder he is sought out. But he 
remains the same shrinking, sensitive man 
he ever was, and lionizing will not harm him, 
his own words the contrary notwithstanding. 
I saw him one night surrounded by a bevy of 
girls, who, in their aesthetic, clinging gowns 
and admiring attitudes, could not but remind 
me of the maidens in Pinafore, grouped around 
Bunthorn, and, in speaking to him afterward, 

I 



132 



Yesterdays with Actors. 



I told him he was the lion of the night. 
" Ah !" said William Warren, " I never heard 

The danger of 

lionizing. of but one man who was not hurt by lionizing, 

and he was a Jew by the name of Daniel !" 
Mr. Vinton's When Mr. Vinton was commissioned to 
Mr a warrln lt0 P^ n ^ his portrait he felt there was some bar- 
rier between him and his sitter which must 
be broken down before he could comprehend 
the character and temperament of his sub- 
ject, as a successful artist must do. Here, he 
told me, he felt must be the complex mind, 
the creator of half a century of living pictures 
inspiring and controlling the features he was 
to limn, and yet, for all he could fathom, only 
childlike simplicity revealed itself. How was 
" he to penetrate the secret and know the man ? 
Little by little he began to feel that it zuas 
the man he knew, that the mimetic art had 
left no traces on the spirit, though it had fur- 
rowed the face with infinite lines of expres- 
sion which he must take as he found them, 
leaving for their illumination the pure and 
gentle nature he had discovered. 

It was, perhaps, fortunate that the com- 
mittee relinquished the proposed scheme 
for his portrait in one of his famous charac- 
ters, to give to his townsfolk and friends the 
likeness which Mr. Vinton has painted with 
16 such force and inspiration of the sound, true 
gentleman, William Warren. What 



Childlike sim 
plicityofthes 



The sound, t 




Boston Mtisetim. IJJ 

What the Museum has achieved under its 
present manager, Mr. R. M. Field, everybody Mr. Field's 
knows, but it is its highest praise that it has mana s ement - 
developed those lines 
of progress which the 
manager of the past 
instituted, with greatly 
increased facilities and 
a liberal expenditure. 
Cramped for space to a 
degree I have never wit- 
nessed the equipment inadequate for a first- 
class theatre (we had not even a call boy) Mr. 
Keach placed the establishment in the front 
rank and the Museum productions of the 
Colleen Bawn and Jeanie Deans would have Coiieen Bawn 
been creditable to any stage. He killed him- Detns^ro- 
self with work, for he had an unusually ner- duced by Mr. 
vous temperament, and the blade wore out 
the scabbard in three years. I remember 
his characteristic way of pulling his whiskers 
as he stood directing the rehearsals of a 
new play until the left side grew perceptibly 
thinner. He was a painstaking actor, and I 
fancy the employment was an actual rest in 
his cares as a manager. Even to the last, 
when the illness that slowly undermined his 
strength left him so weak that he could only 
get up the theatre stairs by the help of the 

hand 



134* 



Yesterdays with Actors. 



The dying 
ager at his post. 



ductior 



hand rail, his acting lost none of its life and 
spirit. I have seen him come off the stage 
with a burst of laughter which his part re- 
quired and fall fainting in the entrance from 
sheer exhaustion. And in the minuet in the 
Belle's Strategem, one night he asked me 
to let him hold my hand to save him from 
falling. This whispered appeal was the more 
pathetic since I knew how reluctantly he 
turned to a woman's help, like any other of 
his sex. After this he broke through a nat- 
ural reserve, told me of his proposed jour- 
ney to Baltimore, and how he hoped it might 
benefit him, because he wanted to come back 
strong enough to play in Rosedale. He 
went south, but returned hurriedly for the 
rehearsal of . Ticket-of-Leave-Man, that he 
might not be anticipated by Mrs. Barrow s 
-production of the same piece, worse for the 
anxiety and the fatigue of the journey, but 
again at his post. In fact, he only left his 
work a week before his death. 

Among the daring successes of his man- 
agement with the limited conditions at his 
command, my Boston readers will recall, 
besides Jeanie Deans and Colleen Bawn, 
The Enchantress, Pauvrette, The Angel of 
Midnight, Faust and Marguerite, The Octo- 
roon, and many others, well mounted and 

generally 



Boston Museum. 



135 




generally well cast. The company was re- 
enforced by special engagements. Mrs. 
Barrow, in the first season, was obtained 
for the part of Effie Deans. 

Mr. and Mrs. Jacob Bar* Mr.' and Mrs. 
row were here familiar and Barrow - 
favorite figures in their re- 
spective spheres for many 
years. She led that bril- 
liant galaxy which illumi- 
nated the Boston Theatre 
in its opening season. He 
was known as a hospit- 
able good fellow, who, 
with many ups and downs 
of fortune always suc- 
ceeded in living luxuri- 
ously. After the Museum 
engagement, they tried 
their fortunes in a little 
theatre which Mrs. Barrow established in the 
hall opening from the Music Hall entrance, 
but it had a short and disastrous season. 
They faded away from the scene, and finally 
returned to England. Few actresses were 
ever more finished and satisfactory, if some- 
what artificial, than Julia Bennett Barrow, vioia and 
and she was a graceful and beautiful woman. ° beron - 
The exquisite Obeivn, the most charming 

Viola 





Ij6 Yesterdays with Actors. 

Viola lingered on, and still, I believe, lingers 
a paralyzed invalid. 

Miss Bateman, as she afterwards became 
Miss Bateman. ^aa^ in English fashion ; Miss 

Kate Bateman, in the more 
friendly American style, 
played with us. She was 
a dear good girl, pure as 
a lily, and as fair, but 
she never would have 
achieved her wonderful 
success without the absolute admiration for 
her which Papa Bateman felt to the roots of 
Mr. Bateman's his being ! We do not convert others unless 
we believe ourselves, and if to family affec- 
tion there is united a sincere admiration, 
it is very certain to conquer. So Mahomet 
found it easy to overcome the world when 
that most incredulous element, his own 
family, became his disciples. Mr. Bateman 
believed his daughter to be the greatest ac- 
tress of her day, and in his intercourse with 
the leaders of public opinion, they came to 
believe so too. When he started the ap- 
ciaqueur. plause, his great hands resounded loudly and 

his face expressed the sense of rousing the 
audience to their duty. When Evangeline 
slept upon the stage, while the moving pano- 
rama behind gave the effect of motion to the 

boat 



belief in h 
daughter. 



A patei 



Boston Museum. IJJ 

boat upon which the heroine is travelling, as 
the house broke into applause at some tri-Appiai 
umphs of the painter in the passing scene J e P n a ) oriV 
Papa Bateman saw only his child, and with a Bateman. 
burst of joyous enthusiasm, he turned grate- 
fully to an applauding neighbor with, " No 
woman can sleep upon a bench like my 
daughter," and joined with all his might 
in the tribute which his parental solicitude 
interpreted so naively. Ellen and Kate Bate- mienBatems 
man had been infant prodigies, and used to 
play the Young Couple together when they 
were four and six. Marriage early lost Ellen 
Bateman to the stage, and it was a serious 
loss, for she had very brilliant promise. Her 
sister lacked her power and sympathy, but she 
had elegance and dignity and classic beauty. 

People talk of "stage beauty" as though it stage beauty 
were something coarser and less rare than the mustbereaL 
beauty of a ballroom, whereas there are points 
of outline, motion, expression indispensable 
on the stage, the want of which is unnoticed 
in a room. Many actresses use paint and 
pencil as though shading and coloring must 
be enormously exaggerated for stage effect, 
but a theatre is full of opera glasses, and the 
slight touches of art which the footlights do 
require must be used as delicately as the not 
unknown embellishments of a woman of so- 
ciety. 



'38 



Yesterdays with Actors. 



Mistakes in 
making up. 



Mr. Frank 
Whitman. 



ciety. Even in Sarah Bernhardt 's company 
there were faces that looked like clowns, and 
in which the paint disguised the expression 
like a mask. Miss B at email s fair loveliness 
would have been still more admired anywhere 
else, and, together with her lifelong training 
in her art, won her not pardon only, but in- 
dulgence in parts far above her real power. 

There are many strange tales of mad actors, 
perhaps the most famous that which Mrs. 
l - Bellamy relates of one who having been a cel- 
ebrated Ophelia, eluded her attendants, and, 
making her way to the theatre, forced herself 
upon the stage before the actress playing the 
character, and gave the mad scene with horri- 
ble truthfulness, to the amazement of the 
performers as well as the audience. I have 
had much experience with these afflicted folk, 
though never any more painful than for a few 
hours on the stage of the Museum. Mr. 
Frank Whitman was a very useful member of 
the company — the Danny Mann of the Col- 
leen Bawn. In all the apparent violence 
which he has to use toward his victim he was 
careful and gentle. Many an inferior actor 
loses his head and in the excitement of such 
a scene gives needless bruises. He was 
always delicately courteous to me, and I felt 
real sorrow when tales of his strange words 

and 



Boston Museum. Ijg 

and actions began to be whispered about the 
theatre and his companions said that he was 
"queer." At last one night when we were 
playing Jeanie Deans, it was suddenly told me : Madness in the 
" Whitman is mad." He had the little part theatre - 
of the jailor. In the scene where Jeanie 
visits her sister Effie in prison after her con- 
demnation, Mrs. Barrow, who was Effie, 
should have turned away from me, but stood, 
instead, looking before her with a strained, 
astonished expression, which led me to follow 
her gaze. There was poor Mr. Whitman, down Astrano . e 
by the footlights, combing his hair with a scene, 
pocket comb ! The dull face, the vacant 
stare and the measured action, ludicrous as 
the situation was, only called forth a thrill of 
horror. A long silence finally aroused the 
poor fellow, a second jailor entered and coaxed 
him off the stage. The same evening I was 
told his regard for me had developed into 
something like aversion. 

He went about complaining of my eyes — Dangerous dis- 
" they snapped at him." It was his duty to position. 
arrest my sister, and if my eyes "snapped " at 
him when he did it as they had done the night 
before, he had a pistol and meant to "put her 
away." Every one was on the watch to secure 
the pistol, but it was not a comfortable per- 
formance. His friends, it seemed, had been 



1 40 Yesterdays with Actors. 

aware of his condition but had hoped it would 
improve. 

He never came to the theatre again. I 
was told that the next day, when he was re- 
moved to the asylum, he thought the carriage 
had come to take him thither, and he wrap- 
ped himself in the plaidie, ready for the 
Scotch play, and so passed to the ".last scene 
of all that ends this strange eventful history." 
John wnkes Another madman — and I do not say it from 
Booth. sentimental charity, but from the distinct 

memory of that sensation which the near ap- 
proach to those of unhinged minds communi- 
cates — was John Wilkes 
BootJi, a star or a comet 
of the Museum season. 
It is my earnest belief 
that if there was ever an 
irresponsible person, it 
was this sad-faced, hand- 
some, passionate boy. As 
an actor he had more of the native fire and 
fury of his great father than any of his family, 
but he was as undisciplined on the stage as off. 
When he fought, it was no stage fight. If his 
antagonist did not strain his nerve and skill, 
he would either be forced over the stage into 
the orchestra as happened, I believe, once or 
twice ; or cut and hurt, as almost always 
happened. 




Boston Museum. 141 

happened. He told me that he generally- 
slept smothered in steak or oysters to cure his 
own bruises after Richard the Third, because 
he necessarily got as good as he gave, — in 
fact more, for though an excellent swords- 
man, in his blind passion he constantly cut 
himself. How he threw me about ! once 
even knocked me down, picking me up again 
with a regret as quick as his dramatic impulse 
had been vehement. In Othello, when, with otheiio's rush 
fiery remorse, he rushed to the bed of Desde- atDesdemona - 
raona after the murder, I used to gather my- 
self together and hold my breath, lest the 
bang his cimeter gave when he threw him- 
self at me should force me back to life with 
a shriek. 

The sharp dagger seemed so dangerous an 
implement in the hands of such a desperado 
that I lent him my own — a spring dagger, with 
a blunt edge, which is forced back into its han- 
dle if it is actually struck against an object. 
In the last scene of Romeo and Juliet, one^y agged 

J ' Juliet. 

night, I vividly recall how the buttons at his 
cuff caught my hair, and in trying to tear 
them out he trod on my dress and rent it so 
as to make it utterly useless afterward ; and 
in his last struggle literally shook me out of 
my shoes ! The curtain fell on Romeo with 
a sprained thumb, a good deal of hair onR d ™ Red 

his 



Misfortunes of 
John Wilkes 
Booth's career, 



142 Yesterdays with Actors. 

his sleeve, Juliet in rags and two white satin 
shoes lying in the corner of the stage ! 

The stage door was always blocked with silly 
women waiting to catch a glimpse, as he 
passed, of his superb face and figure. He 
was ever spoiled and petted, and left to his 
unrestrained will. He succeeded in gaining 
position by flashes of genius, and the neces- 
sity of ordinary study had not been borne in 
upon him. No life could have been worse 
for such a character than that of an actor. It 
is doubtful if aught could have counter- 
acted the effects of inheritance and the lack 
of early education ; but, even if crime had 
been their outcome, it would, under other 
conditions, have hardly taken the vain form 
of his awful deed, with the mock heroism of 
its " Sic semper tyrannis " and its tawdry 
tragedy. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

Boston Museum, continued. 

THERE are some people who can never grow Grown up 
old. Their years may number fourscore, but cu 
they are possessed of an innocent freshness, 
a true guilelessness that they have brought 
straight through from childhood. They know 
themselves to be true and cannot mistrust 
another ; contact with the world has not made 
them worldly. They have trodden the beaten 
path with the rest of us, and escaped defile- 
ment, — for the fault is in our own coat if it at- 
tract the burrs. One of these rare people is 
Mfs. Vincent. Nobody has anything but Mrs. vincei 
good to say of her, unless 
it be those devoted 
friends who have consti- 
tuted themselves her 
guardians, to take care of 
her money, so that she 
may not spend every 
penny she earns. One of 

these 




144 



Yesterdays with Actors. 



Where her 
money goes. 



these faithful wardens was promptly on hand 
after her semi-centennial benefit in 1886, 
and politely accompanied her to the box 
office, where he pocketed the receipts, and 
left her to sign for the same. " All right, 
dear," said Mrs. Vincent, " but don't invest it 
all ; I want a trifle for myself," and she was 
provided for accordingly, as in the after part 
of the day the good friend again made his ap- 
pearance. " You said you wanted a trifle ; 
here it is. I banked the even dollars and 
brought you the odd cents." Well he knew if 
she once laid her hands on that money the 
order of things would be reversed. The bank 
might have had the cents, but every dollar 
would be spent on rent for the homeless, 
shoes and stockings for the cold, and Thanks- 
giving cheer for those that could not buy it 
for themselves — not to speak of the " merry 
Christmas " for every child she knew. The 
girls get everything they can think of, and 
the boys everything — and more too, because 
she does " love boys so." 
;. It is not as an actress Mrs. Vincent is 
loved in Boston. No one thinks of her as 
this character or that, however well she may 
play it. It's not Sheelah, with her huge mob 
cap and Irish brogue — it's Mrs. Vincent the 

children 



Boston Museum. 145 

children laugh at when she runs round with 

the tea kettle spilling the " hotwather" as she 

goes. She is the children's friend and they Mrs. Vincent'; 

are hers. As with the young, so with the old. early career - 

But her dramatic career has been success- 
ful and laborious. She played the nurse in 
Romeo and Juliet at sixteen years of age, and 
as an actress, Mr. Forrest paid her one of the 
greatest compliments when he sent for her to 
take the " call " with Pauline and Claude after 
the fourth act of the Lady of Lyons. To 
this unheard of request the Widow Melnotte 
modestly demurred, but Mr. Forrest gruffly Mr . Forrest's 
replied : " It's as much for you as for us, endorsemen t. 
madam." 

I began by saying I knew nothing but good 
of her, and there are not a few who will say 
the same. The first revelation to me of her 
kind heart was, in finding hot coffee brought 
to her every night after the performance, 
which she drank, I discovered, to keep her 
awake for a sick room where a man and 
his wife were both dying. Nurses were not 
then so easy to come by as now, and there was Akindnurse - 
a bitter prejudice in the minds of some peo- 
ple, who thought only of Sairey Gamp when 
they were mentioned, so for these poor 
souls who had known better days and fallen 

— oh! 



Yesterdays with Actors. 



A disobedient 
patient. 



The benefit of 
drawer. 



— oh ! the sorrows of all such — Mrs. Vin- 
cent gave up her rest, as long as they needed 
a loving presence in the dark hours from 
twelve until seven, making day, not night, 
out of the dreaded gloom. It need hardly 
be said that she too provided, either 
in money or interest for doctors and medi- 
cine and every comfort. Has she forgotten 
those three weeks? I have never heard 
her mention them. Mrs. Vincent herself 
has the greatest confidence in medical 
men, the most sincere regard for their 
opinions, and never fails to send for them at 
the proper times. She gets their prescrip- 
tions immediately made up, but never takes 
them, having a simple horror of medicine as 
applied to her own system. Not long ago 
she was expressing herself in grateful terms 
to the doctor who had been with her through 
rather a critical period and knew her peculi- 
arity. In perfect earnestness, she turned to 
her friends, saying; "The pain has nearly 
gone. It was those pills of his. Oh ! if you 
ever have such an attack, do just try them." 
"You did take them, then?" said the doubt- 
ing ^Esculapius. " Doctor dear," whispered 
the patient, " no I did not really take them, 
but I put the pills in my upper drawer, and 
they did do me a world of good." In 



Boston Museum. 14J 

In her own home, Mrs. Vincent was, ever the Mrs - Vincent 
soul of hospitality. Every stranger she shakes 
by the hand is made welcome there, and 
to some that home has proved a blessed re- 
treat. One young seamstress who worked 
for me I may cite. She was very delicate, 
unfit for constant application, in need of better 
food and a physician's care. Mrs. Vincent 
had her for a day's sewing, and a year after- 
ward she was still there, rent free, with plenty 
of nourishment, a doctor, who kindly visited 
her, out of regard for the hostess, who refused 
to let the young seamstress work more than a 
part of the time, though she paid her for all. 
The care taken of her and the freedom from 
anxiety had cured the dying girl. 

This home was filled with dumb friends too, a family of 
sumptuously fed and tended. The family of cats ' 
black cats was a wonderful group of feline 
beauty. A visitor to Mrs. Vincent of a ner- 
vous temperament, one of those who cannot 
abide that " harmless necessary " animal, had 
a bad quarter of an hour in awaiting her in 
the parlor one day. The room was dark and 
the house quiet. After a little space, the 
door was pushed stealthily open, and a great 
glossy black puss, with tail erect and gleam- 
ing eyes, slowly entered. After a minute, a 

second 



1^8 Yesterdays with Actors. 

second followed the first, with bushy tail, red 
eyes and bristling fur, then another, and 
another, and another, until there were five ! 
They drew closer, circling round the victim, 
with tails now switching with emotion, their 
eager looks flashing fire, while she sat para- 
lyzed with terror in the midst. It was a great 
relief when the hostess bustled in, calling 
" William Warren," " Smithy," and so on, for 
all had the names of the principal members of 
the Museum company, and the animals were 
driven out of the room. No, not driven. No- 
blesse oblige ! William Warren, a majestic 
a dignified old fellow, as dignified as his sponsor, stalked 
exit ' out of the door, followed one by one by his 

comrades, as they had entered. Another pet 
of Mrs. Vincent's was a tiny black-and-tan 
dog that a friend had given her. This, of 
course, demanded all the care of a child, and 
a pet do? and it had it. Her great love for Dot and the 
creature's dependence upon her were not 
thrown away upon the quick-witted boys of 
the West end. There came a time when this 
pet was always getting lost, in spite of her 
mistress's vigilance. She could not put it 
out of her hand to trot by her side for a min- 
ute but it was gone. If she sat down on the 
Common with Dot sporting around her feet 

for 



s enemies. 



Boston Museum. I^g 

for exercise, while she turned to look ad- 
miringly at a baby carriage, the dog was no- 
where to be seen. Even from her own door- 
step it disappeared. The first time a reward Rewards have 
of five dollars was offered, and paid so gladly, 
with such tearful recognition of the comfort 
that had been restored, that Dot was found 
missing again within the week, and this 
time five dollars brought no response. She 
raised it to ten dollars. Dot was brought 
home sick with fretting. Double watchfulness 
was observed by the mistress, and Dot on her 
part. seemed suspicious of every one else, and 
more than ever an inseparable part of her best 
friend, but she went all the same, and as the 
bereaved owner thought of their last parting, 
she grieved for the animal more than for her- 
self, and resolved on a quick return. " She'll 
ruin me," sobbed Mrs. Vincent, " but I shall 
die without the dear little thing; she loves 
me so, and is such a blessing;" so this time 
Dot was advertised at fifteen dollars, and so 
on to the end of the chapter. Fortunately, 
that dog did not live to be very old, or even 
the watchful guardians could not have suc- 
ceeded in keeping a bank account for her 
owner. 

Mr. Keach was a most autocratic manager. 

He 



l$0 Yesterdays with Actors. 

Mr. Keach an He made no concessions, suffered no in- 
manager^ fringement of rules ; always nervous and 
prompt himself, he demanded absolute obe- 
dience to orders in others and this came hard 
all round, under the circumstances. Not only 
had some members of the company been 
under a very easy rein during the previous 
management, but associated as fellow actors 
with Mr. Keach himself, who had formerly 
liked a joke as well as anybody. They did 
not approve of the martinet rule, and there 
was a slight threatening of general rebellion 
in the camp, which made Mr. Keach only the 
more irascible. All this did not affect me, 
xo "can boy." but the want of a " call boy " did. This was 
my special grievance. I never had elsewhere 
to look out for my own entrances, and with 
every desire to be correct for my own sake, I 
could not in a hurried change of dress make 
speed, and be listening to the words on the 
stage at the same time. Moreover, between 
the acts even — up went the curtain when 
Mr. Keach saw the stage ready : not " a call " 
nor word of warning for those concerned. 
This I really resented, since it was without 
precedent. I had just left Dion Boncicaidt 
in New York, who had shown me every cour- 
tesy and ordered the call to be made at my 

dressing 



Boston Museum. Iji 

dressing room for every entrance, so that Mr. Anguish of a 
Keactis system seemed most arbitrary and stage w ait> 
ungracious. It was a terrible sensation to 
hear " Stage waiting !" and then find a flight of 
stairs between you and your entrance. One 
night they told me the "wait " was five minutes, 
and I only wonder I ever went on at all, for I 
was so frightened that I felt like running off 
and out of the building rather than on to face 
a strange audience who only saw the error 
without understanding the cause. I told my 
unrelenting manager it was a gross injustice, 
not to me only but the public, and begged, 
sooner than suffer the same risk again, I 
might be allowed to pay for the extra service, 
but it was denied. Mr. Reach did finally in- 
troduce the common usage of his own motion 
the next season. It was purely accidental, 
therefore, one afternoon when the time came 
for the ringing up of the curtain that it was 
discovered Mrs. Vincent had not arrived. As Mrs. Vincent 
she was to appear early in the piece, mes- missin;? - 
sengers were dispatched to explore the 
neighborhood. She was found on the corner 
of Tremont Row and Pemberton Square, sur- 
rounded by a crowd, haranguing a teamster 
who was driving a lame horse. Her fervent 
denunciations, pointed by her umbrella, were 

scarcely 



152 Yesterdays with Actors. 



A lecture 
cruelty to 



scarcely to be interrupted by the urgent re- 
minder that the stage was waiting. As she 
was dragged away and hurried up the stairs 
of the Museum, we heard her panting for 
breath and brokenly exclaiming in anything 
but a tone of penitence : " Well, I don't care 
if the stage is waiting, and I don't care for 
Mr. Reach nor twenty like him. I won't see a 
brute driving a horse on three legs without 
speaking my mind." 

Mr. Reach's ^ n turning from my memories of Mr. 

seif-possession. Keacti s management, I recall an incident 
illustrating his courage and self-possess- 
sion. I was dressing one night for The 
Jealous Wife in my little room above the 
stage about an hour before the play began, 
when in the stillness (and it always seemed 
to me there is nothing so still as a silent 
theatre) I heard a man coming up the stairs 
in strange haste. Of course, one grows to 
know all everyday sounds, and this startled 
me; it was unusual. I called out: "What's 
the matter?" There was no reply, but the 
flying feet still ascended, and I flung open my 
door. The draught brought a forked flame 

Fire. literally down the stairway into my face. As I 

learned afterward, while the " border lights," 
were being lighted, which is done with the aid 

of 



Boston Museum. IJJ 

of a long pole from the stage ; the current 
of air, purposely made as great as possible to 
cool off the building, blew one of these same 
" borders " into the gas. I could not exagger- 
ate the rapidity with which the flames spread, The rapid 
and it can only be realized by remember-^ s ° fth 
ing the inflammable substances with which 
a stage is filled — the heated wood, the dry 
canvas that has been soaked in turpentine, 
the straight surfaces which the flames lick 
up and across without let or hindrance. In 
less time than I am telling it, and, before I 
could assume presentable clothing, every- 
thing looked ablaze, as indeed it was, for 
from the borders the "wings" had caught. 
In dressing sack and dishevelled hair, I flew 
to the stage. There was Mr. Keach summon- Energetic 
ing his forces as if by magic. At his word measures - 
of command the pump was at work, the hose 
playing upon the flames — men on ladders 
handing buckets to those above, who cut the 
ropes and let drop the burning canvas and tim- 
ber, while in the centre of all, as it seemed, 
literally enveloped in flame and drenched with 
water, stood the " Captain," never seen to soTheCaptaii 
much advantage as in this hour of real danger, 
never so thoughtful for others that they 
might not be injured by the falling pieces, 

never 



I$4- Yesterdays with Actors. 

never so calm as when, almost before the 
flames were really out, he turned to give the 
order that " no danger " was to be reported in 
the galleries, whither the audience had re- 
tired. The musicians had brought their in- 
struments, and all crowded about the door of 
egress, but not a soul left the building. Mr. 
Keach stood fearlessly ; his men worked . 
bravely. They promptly obeyed every order, 
and in the well appointed theatre everything 
was in working order for the crisis. The 
lookers on, though ready for flight, gathered 
presence of mind from the example on the 
stage, and stood quietly waiting. Before the 
smoke had cleared away the orchestra was 
The play pro- ordered "in." To the question "Is there to 
be a performance?" the answer " Certainly ! " 
was snapped back sharply, and fifteen minutes 
after the regular time the stage had been 
mopped up, a carpet put down, which, though 
it hid the wet to the eye, left it so moist that I 
put on rubbers over a pair of pink silk boots. 
The scenery was streaked with water too, the 
furniture soaked, and the place so cold and 
damp, that in spite of being wrapped up in 
shawls and opera cloaks, we were coughing 
and sneezing for the next week. But we 
did play the comedy. Everybody was in- 
spired ' 






Boston Museum. Ijrf 

spired to make additional effort, and the 
audience was in the best and most appre- 
ciative of humors. I question if, without 
the promptness, resource and exertion of 
Mr. Keach, the Museum would not have 
been burned to the ground, like many other 
theatres where a similar accident has occurred, 
with great loss of property, if not of life. 

The elder Wallack told Mr. Keach in the 
latter's second season, when the company was 
largely re-enforced, that, while its men were 
good, its galaxy of female attraction could not 
be equalled in his own or any other company. 
Certainly it would have been hard to fmd Four 
four girls more beautiful 
and clever than Josephine 0^\ 

Orton, Annie Clarke, Ori- m^mk 

ana Marshall and Lizzie wk ^JMB 

Baker. Of the two of JjEvjIir ^ars: 

these who are " actors of -^^^^^^fe^ 
yesterday," Oriana Mar- fi^?SP 

shall died at seventeen 
years of age, and Miss Orton unfortunately, 
lives in retirement. She 
was an immense favorite 
in Bosto 

phia, and made a tour 

through the country with 

the Warren combination, 

winning 




I $6 Yestei'days with Actors. 

winning new laurels, which she justly earned. 
Young as she was, there was a passion and 
a life and a fire in her which filled the stage. 
Her comedy was pure, frank, rollicking fun, 
without an artificial touch or tone, while 
in the more serious parts her magnificent 
black eyes glowed with expression and her 
vivid movements were Rachelesque. She 
was of the stuff from which true artists are 
made, and yet, with all these natural ad- 
vantages, a constant student, living in her 
profession and entirely absorbed by it. We 
stood side by side often in opposite parts 
and I honestly shared the admiration of the 
audience for her. 

If the actor's labor is only to shape the 
image of snow, I should like to assure a 
sister that hers remains crystalized for a life- 
time in my memory ! 

My first Saturday eve- 
ning in Boston was spent 
Athenceum. |g ^ !| at the Howard Athe- 

naeum, then under the 
management of E. L. 
Davenport. We did not 
play at the Museum that 
night of the week, so as 
Thackeray observes of idle actors, we were 
to be found looking on at those that did. A 

tall, 



the Howard 




Boston Museum. 157 

tall, elegant girl appeared, dressed in a frock 
of simple make, soft, clinging and exquisitely- 
graceful, while every one else wore hoops of 
enormous amplitude, and ruffles and flounces, 
according to the fashion. I was as delighted 
with the modest refinement of the actress, 
who was only a " walking lady," as I was with 
her dress, and prophesied she would be one 
of the best leading actresses within five 
years. A Boston public was called upon to 
verify my prophecy, and I leave it to say 
if the full bloom has not fulfilled the prom- 
ise of the bud in Annie Clarke. 

I have spoken before in a general way of a nameless 
those not in the front rank of the profes- herome - 
sion. As hers was among the first faces I 
met on the Museum stage, let me now speak 
in particular of one of my humbler heroines. 
As I sat ready for the discovery of Lydia 
Languish at rehearsal, I saw the beautiful 
outline of a female who was standing sew- 
ing where she could best catch the light 
upon her work. She was a mature woman, 
looking about thirty years of age, with a 
superb figure, soft nut brown skin of the 
richest gipsy coloring I ever beheld, strik- 
ingly handsome features, gleaming teeth, 
lustrous, fascinating eyes, with long fringed 
lashes, raven hair that waved in its bands, 

and 



I$8 Yesterdays with Actors. 

and still left glossy curls peeping out in 
natural disorder after the hasty toilet and 
Lifeandheaith the hurried walk. Above all, the expression 
ness. CheerfUl ' of Joy° us life and health made a picture of the 
sunny face that, after twenty-five years I think 
of with admiration. Differently placed, artists 
would have raved over her. In society, I 
have never seen an approach to her type of 
beauty, and yet there she was, unconsciously, 
modestly plying her task, respectable and re- 
spected, a widow struggling to keep two chil- 
dren, which, with infinite economy and the 
occasional aid of her needle, she suc- 
Four dollars a ceeded in doing on a salary of four dollars a 
week week ! Honor be to all such. In the Great 

Review may they be ordered up into the front 
rank. 

There is nothing I used to like better than 

to mount the stairs of the Museum with a 

party of children and to share the rapture 

The wax fig- which begins with Gulliver on the first floor 

and reaches its climax in the fearsome delight 

of the wax figures on the last. The little ones' 

pleasure is infectious, and sympathy rolls 

away the burden of years. In this way I 

Their zealous went thither after a long absence, and — not 

guardian. finding the face of one I had never failed to 

see in the days of auld lang syne ; a quaint 

being, who had been a sentiment to me, as a 

passionate 



Boston Museum. 159 

passionate enthusiast, the lover and pre- 
server of the wax figures — I asked for him, 
and was told he was dead ! 

After I had been in Boston about six weeks, 
I saw, as I stood in the dim entrance, a little 
bent old man watching me. He came forward 
and asked, did I not like wax figures, would 
I not come and look at his ? After the re- 
hearsal he conducted me to the upper gallery. 
There was a confiding yet startled air which 
was almost furtive and suggested fear and 
suspicion. I could not but believe that, en- 
grossed with his dumb companions, when he 
sought human fellowship, the eyes that 
moved, the lips that spoke, half terrified him ! 
However, being a silent person, I was taken sympathy with 
the rounds, and every perfection pointed out *^°" ely enthu " 
to me. Was I not smitten with the belief that 
Chang and Eng were before me? These 
Siamese, were they not real ? He spoke 
with solemn earnestness of Miss McCreds 
need of a clean gown. She should have 
it yet. But the school — the school. Look 
at it ! Every face, he told me, had been 
wiped, every collar washed, every shoe 
brushed. The schoolmaster, was I not 
deceived by him ? The scholar with the 
dunce's cap ? Wax ? No ! It was life ! He 
spoke with the most touching pathos of the 

neglect 



160 Yesterdays with Actors. 

Neglect of the neglect of his idols now as compared with 
wax figures. ^ Q times gone by. He kept up his constant 
brushing and combing and dusting, but all to 
no purpose. I could see he was too much 
hurt to speak to the old members of the com- 
pany. They who had known them in better 
days treated them with cold indifference. He 
must speak to somebody — so he confided 
all to me, a stranger ? 

It is a fact I never even knew his name, 
but I understood and pitied him, which 
seemed enough. He had trusted me. I 
never betrayed that trust by mentioning 
his grief. About twice a year as long as 
I was attached to the Museum, and always 
when I returned for starring engagements, we 
My friend and went on the little pilgrimage together to see 
ijisitthegai- t j ie renovations in his beloved family. He 
still dwelt upon the fact that they had once 
been praised so highly, but now all was dif- 
ferent. Even those that did come to look at 
the upper gallery spoke with discriminating 
severity, and the change was more than he 
could endure. 
An eerie place The ghastly tragedy of the drunkard's 
history, the verisimilitude of the sealing- 
wax blood of poor Miss McCrea, stark star- 
ing Santa Anna, were always things terrible 
to me, but as I think now of the pale moon- 
light 



Boston Museum. 161 

light falling on those awful spectres, I have 
an eerie feeling that the little old man still 
creeps about the gallery fulfilling his faithful 
task ! The children would be bidden to run 
up that last flight alone. Nothing could take 
me there again ! 

Surely a memory preserved in bare fact of Liv 
date and circumstance is like a waxen effigy nes 
or the barbarous Egyptian mummy. Oblivion 
were often better. In these trifling recollec- 
tions of dear friends and companions I have 
at least tried to set down my remembrance of 
the kind thoughts, noble impulses and good 
deeds of yesterday, which are the undying 
part of to-morrow as well. 



CHAPTER IX. 

Travel in America. 

I have always felt happily secure in travel- 
' ling alone, especially in America, where a 
woman finds officials generally helpful, re- 
spectful and obliging. I scarcely remember 
meeting with a single exception anywhere. 
Still, when one journeys thousands of miles 
for five seasons — by the law of chances, 
some unusual experiences must happen to 
the traveller. Having been, for the sum- 
mer of 1857, in Montreal with Mr. Belton, 
in returning, I was to meet my mother at 
Albany. The geography of the country had 
not yet been mastered by me — the points 
of the compass never will be. It was a 
natural instinct in changing cars to follow the 
crowd, and not until the train had really 
started did it occur to me that it might be as 

well 



Travel in America. l6j 

well to ask if I was on the right road, so a stupid mis- 
turning to a person in the next seat I in- take ' 
quired, " Is this the train for Albany ?" The 
man pedantically replied, " This is the New 
York train." Of course, I understood it was 
the wrong one ! My mother's anxiety, if I 
failed to arrive in Albany, was my only 
thought. Without an instant's hesitation I 
rushed to the door and sprang off the train ! 
When I came to my senses it was to find my- 
self lying on a seat in the waiting room and 
to hear the words: "She's got a life pre- Alife preserver, 
server on the back of her head !" It appeared 
that my hair, which was enormously thick and 
long, being coiled at the back, had really 
been sufficent to serve as a sort of cushion, 
and probably did save my life. But the blow 
was serious enough to stun me for several 
hours, and leave bloodshot eyes and aching 
bones for many days. Worse than this was 
the distress of learning I had been on the Therighttrain 
right train which passed through Albany on after alL 
its way to New York. It was now due there, 
and I pictured my mother almost beside her- 
self at my absence — especially if, as some one 
suggested, she should be told by the officials 
that a girl had jumped off. They knew noth- 
ing of my condition, and, being so near the 
station, did not "back," knowing I should be 
seen and attended to. My 



164. Yesterdays with Acto?'s. 

My mother had only arranged to meet me 
in Albany on our way to St. Louis. I had no 
address, and therefore could only wait in a 
state of real fever and frenzy until the next 
New York train started. After, as it seemed, 
an endless journey, I was literally carried out 
of my seat, where my mother found me, too 
ill to look for her. 

This was only a personal injury, however. 
a serious acci- I have been in several general disasters, one 
in the West, where two people behind me 
were both killed. Our train was late, the 
express had made unusual time, and it ran 
into us, producing a "telescope" accident. 
I escaped with a dislocated shoulder, but 
it was an awful moment, that I never can 
forget, when that deafening, blinding, crush- 
ing horror swept me up and away. It was 
night, and we were left in darkness. The voice 
of the conductor was heard amid the groans 
and cries almost instantaneously, telling us to 
keep still, lights were coming and when 
the lanterns were brought the wreck pre- 
* sented a sickening sight too ghastly to 
describe. 
The broken Another incident was perfectly harmless, 

even ludicrous, as it seems now. It was no 
laughing matter at the time. The train came 
to a stop about five o'clock on a cold January 

morning, 



Travel in America. 1 6$ 

morning, and the kind conductor knocked at 
the door of my compartment to say: "Bridge 
broken — cars waiting for us on the other 
side." And so they were, but we must An unpleasant 
cross the bridge on foot, walking on the walkacrossthe 
sleepers : so with the good fellow's help my 
wraps were all bundled on, and then I was 
taken, as others were, a guard on either side, 
across the icy track, and told to look up, not 
down. When we had safely accomplished 
the tight-rope feat and for the first time I 
glanced into the yawning depth, 1 felt grate- 
ful for the inherited military obedience which 
enabled me to do promptly what I was 
bidden. 

One night I left Buffalo at twelve o'clock, sleeping- car 
after a performance. The getting off with a robt, ed. 
great deal of baggage made me rather a con- 
spicuous figure, and I chanced to have con- 
siderable money about me. There was no 
compartment with a door, to be had ; there, 
fore I took one with curtains, and, being very 
tired, fell into a sound sleep, from which I 
aroused to a consciousness that some one Attempt to 
was holding ether to my mouth. I felt the etherize me. 
burning on my lips, and half awoke to see 
the curtain flying and some men scuttling to 
the end of the car, but I fell into a stupor at 
once from the anaesthetic. The next morning 

I 



1 66 Yesterdays with Actors. 

I heard the porter, as he put up the berths, tell- 
ing a gentleman the train had been boarded last 
night by robbers. " Did they steal any- 
thing ? " " No," said the porter, " nothing was 

My tickets re- found upon them but the tickets from the 
head of that lady's berth," " that lady " being 
myself. I held my own counsel, as I had lost 
nothing, and as this was before the days when 
pseudo robberies of artistes were a recog- 
nized form of advertising. 

About this time I spent a week in a place 

on city in win- called Oil City, Pennsylvania. The snow was 
two feet deep, and I ordered a sleigh to take 
me to the theatre. They placed a regular Cleo- 
patra barge at my service. I could not be- 
lieve it was all for me, but they explained 
that it was the only thing on runners in 

i ride in a town. Packed tight, as I saw it once, with 

barge " thirty people holding on to one another, it 

was as much as they could do to keep in, and 
what it was to me in the twenty-four rides I 
made in it, up hill and down dale, in those 
drifts of snow, who can tell ? I finally had 
a buffalo robe set in the midst, on the floor, 
and I started on that, but before we reached 
our destination the robe was jolted from 
under me, and only by clutching with both 
hands was I left anywhere at all inside the 
barge. There was a funny incident at the 
conclusion 



Travel in America. l6y 

conclusion of the play in Oil City. At the p re p: 
point where there is generally an uprising on s ^Jf™ ing the 
the part of the audience I heard an unusual 
scraping, and for an instant thought of fire, 
but it was simply a preparation for a long 
trudge to their homes in the dark. Every 
man provided himself with a lamp, and they 
went through a sort of drill inasmuch as it 
was done methodically and in unison. All 
stretched under their seats, each for his lan- 
tern, all struck a match together, all illumi- 
nated at the same moment, and from the 
stage this manoeuvre had a decidedly novel 
effect. 

People used to inveigh against Charles Cairo. 
Dickens for the severity of his American 
Notes, but if Cairo was, as I have been told, 
his Eden, he could not exaggerate its horrors, 
as I remember it. A stay there of seven 
hours cost me nearly four hundred dollars. 
The boat stuck in about three feet of water A disagreeable 
on a mud bottom, a ricketty plank walk took lan ding. 
us from the deck to the supposed shore, which 
was a continuation of the mud bank, and in 
which one sank as in a quagmire. I reached 
the hotel, and waited three hours for one 
trunk, which was plainly ■ marked, as I indi- 
cated, number three. The next morning I went 
on my way. It was some few days before I 

opened 



1 68 Yesterdays with Actors. 

opened the last of my baggage. Meanwhile 
a mysterious a damp, mouldy smell pervaded my room, and 
as I was always making some such discovery, 
and travelled with corks for the apertures of 
the washing basins, deodorizer to throw under- 
neath, camphor to besprinkle the pillows, wax 
to drop around the pipes — every remedy was 
applied. Still the odor remained. I never 
suspected my own trunks, until opening num- 
My wet trunk, ber three the mystery was revealed. On my re- 
turn to Cairo, the porter acknowledged it did 
fall into the water, but the old colored man 
felt positively indignant at my ingratitude in 
entering a complaint after he "fished and 
speared and done gone everything and 
couldn't get that yar saretogy up out of de 
ribber, no how." It appeared, after a dis- 
cussion among the gang, as it was agreed 
How it was res- "Julius" dropped it into the river, "Julius" 
ri U ve d r. fr0m the must " fotch {t out '" but > instead of bringing 
up the trunk, he began to disappear himself, 
which made him howl with fright. The 
others threw him ropes, one of which he 
passed through the handle of the "saretogy," 
and another round his own body, and, by the 
aid of these, his comrades succeeded in haul- 
ing both on to the plank. After all this, that 
I should come back to bewail my loss was 
apparently most unlooked for. "Well," I 

said, 



Travel in America. l6g 

said, " it was an accident, and I only com- 
plain of your not telling me at the time, and 
why not as well then as now ? " ■' Cos," said who is tociai 
the old man, " I'se feeling more better 'bout amages - 
it now, but whatever yer got in that thar 
saretogy, it's not feathers ; golly, it's heavy 
as cannon balls, and that night, Missy, that 
night, when I stuck in the mud, I 'spected I 
was a going right straight down to the very 
debble, and I was that sore with de weight of 
my old bones a hanging on to that yar rope ; 
it wasn't the saretogy that I thought of, but 
Julius, and I tell ye what it is, Missy, if I'd a 
said a word it would ha' been to ask a hun- 
dred dollar for my damages, and I ain't got 
right round over it now." 

In an old memorandum book I find one or ANewEng- 
two brief jottings that revive some wayside land tour- 
memories. In the summer of 1863 I made a 
tour of a few New England towns with a very 
modest company as regards numbers, for the 
selection of pieces was only intended for a 
midsummer night's amusement and consisted 
of such plays as Delicate Ground, Antony and 
Cleopatra, and A Conjugal Lesson. These Three admira 
little comedies only called for three men, but ble actors ' 
they were of the best. In the cold, immov- 
able, exquisitely mannered Sangfroid, I have 
never seen Owen Marlowe s artistic " letting 

of 



I/O 



Yesterdays with Actors. 



Mr. Warren'; 
first appear- 

Portland. 



of acting alone," equalled. Those who re- 
member the ring of Stuart Robsori s voice 
know how originally, quizzically droll he is. 
And last, not least, came gentlemanly George 
Becks, always perfect, always equipped, fit for 
a drawing room. They were worthy of their 
e. p. Hingston. manager E. P. Hingston, a most thoroughly 
educated, large souled man, and a most inde- 
fatigable agent. The "Irrepressible" was the 
title well bestowed upon him. He took us to 
Portland for two nights. We remained two 
weeks. The company was slightly increased 
for the last performances, and William War- 
ren made his first appearance in Portland — 
an unprecedented event out of Boston in those 
days. His entrance into the city was through 
by-ways and back streets. Coming on foot 
into the square, Mr. Warren found Hingston, 
who was jack-of-all-trades, showman as well as 
literateur, mounted upon a scaffold, painting 
on an enormous board, in letters three feet 
long : " William Warren, America's Giant of 
Fun ! " My modest friend, accustomed only 
to the quiet advertising of his theatrical home, 
refused to pass the spot where the painter was 
surrounded by a crowd of men and boys ; so 
turned and fled, gaining admittance by a side 
door to the hotel, where I was waiting to 
receive him. 

Southern 



America's 
"Giant of 

Fun." 



Travel in America. If I 

Southern railway travel after the war had southern rail- 
always the excitement of uncertainty. Acci- waY traveL 
dents were frequent, but the speed was so 
slow on the poorly reconstructed roads that 
the mischief was comparatively small. I re- 
member a journey of fourteen miles that took 
eight hours, in consequence of the fuel giving 
out. After each start the speed gradually 
slackened, the train came to a standstill, en- 
gineer, stoker and brakeman fell to and picked 
up such wood as was available by the roadside 
to feed the feeble engine, and presently it 
slowly puffed forward only to wheeze and stag- 
ger again to a halt. So it went on ; the men a slow train, 
among the passengers finally jumping off to 
help forage for fuel with the unfailing cheer- 
fulness and patience of American travellers. 
We gave out altogether an eighth of a mile 
from our destination and but for the name 
of the thing, might as well have walked all 
the way. 

It is a contrast to this snail's-paced train to 
think of a kind of " ride for life " I once made a ride for life. 
with a company to Canada on a special train 
running "wild," and given to me only on a 
solemn agreement that I should hold the rail- 
way free of any claim for accident. We were 
to open in Montreal Easter Monday with Mr. 
John Buckland, who, together with his lovely 

wife, 



172 



Yesterdays with Actors. 



A breathles 



wife, was among my kindest friends. Be- 
cause of a misunderstanding of my usually 
accurate agent, Mr. E. M. Leslie, we found 
that, having neglected to leave the town of 
Rutland Saturday night after the perform- 
ance, we could get no farther than the frontier 
on Sunday, and, owing to the suspension of 
all trains on that day in Her Majesty's domin- 
ions, could not reach Montreal until late Mon- 
day night. Mr. Leslie got no comfort from 
the railway officials, but the special train was 
finally granted to my own intercession with 
the president, after the most solemn warnings 
of the risk we were running. Beside the 
danger of unguarded grade crossings, he said 
the directors had that morning been surveying 
the road, and there were doubtless hand cars, 
perhaps an engine, left obstructing the tracks, 
and to reach Montreal in time for the per- 
formance we must make dangerous speed. 
The sense of responsibility to the public 
which an actor or manager feels may be im- 
agined, when at a cost which more than 
swallowed up the profits of the night's per- 
formance, and without warning my troupe, in 
which there might have been nervous mem- 
bers, I gathered up, as it were, these lives into 
my hand, and we started. Such a breathless 
journey, a reeling train of one car and the 

engine, 



Travel in America. iyj 

engine, strange shrieks and unusual signals, 
abrupt stops, surprised people waving at us 
as we passed, a growing sense of the risk for 
others ; at last a rush through the long bridge 
and into the station, a gallop to the theatre, 
trunks torn open, and .on the stage only five 
minutes late! Of course, Mr. Buckland had 
been telegraphed by the way, and our greet- a warm 
ing in that little theatre, where the gen er- reception - 
ous audience sat awaiting us, was a welcome 
I need nothing to remind me of. Montreal 
people were among my first friends, and 
helped to encourage my very early efforts. 

Two nights I have had of terror, one cer-Twobad 
tainly just, while that of the other, a friend, ni s hts - 
looking over my diary of those days, calls 
somewhat imaginary. It may seem so to 
the reader, but the impressions of both were 
equally real to me, and their memories as 
vividly painful. This is one. 

I was on my way to Mobile (a dear old 
place I wish I might see again) and had to 
spend a night at Meridian. It was just after Meridian. 
the war, when that part of the country was 
absolutely desolate, only a house left stand- 
ing here and there. We arrived late on a 
dreary winter evening, got into a vehicle 
resembling a "Black Maria" and bumped 
along a rough corduroy road which led to a 

so-called 



174 



Yesterdays with Actors. 



My sleeping- 
chamber. 



Black small- 



so-called hotel. In the waiting room were 
only a few wooden seats and a table, and on 
the uncovered floor, asleep, an emigrant family 
were huddled together in a corner. The air 
was heavy with suggestions of apples, kero- 
sene, and a "poor smell " of the worst descrip- 
tion. A colored woman with an inch of dirty 
candle, led me past a bar to the chamber as- 
signed me. From this place came a chorus of 
brutal voices raised in angry dispute, as if with 
"not a finger touch of God left whole on them." 
I could not distinctly see the face of my guide 
but there was something so unpleasant about 
it as to make me shrink in taking the candle 
from her. This room was of a piece with 
the other, lacking even a fireplace — a chair 
without a back, a tin basin set on it, a broken 
piece of looking-glass held upon the wall by 
tacks, an unclean tumbled bed ; and bitterly 
cold, by reason of the panes being half broken 
out of the window, draped with an old brown 
rag of a curtain that waved solemnly to and 
fro. Another moment and I might have been 
left in ignorance of the worst, but the woman 
stopped to apologize for the look of the bed, 
which had been uncared for, owing to all hav- 
ing been down with "black smallpox!" I 
asked if there was no place where I could get 
a more comfortable lodging, and as she 

pointed 



Travel in America. IJ$ 

pointed to some lights up the hill I seized 
my satchel and ran to find I had only escaped 
the frying pan to get into the fire; for, 
whereas, by the woman's account in the first 
house the inmates had recovered, in the 
second they were at the worst of the loath- Another family 
some disease. So back I turned my steps, 
for in a drizzling sleet I could not spend the 
night out of doors, through the fetid atmos- 
phere of the emigrants' apartment, now more 
dense than ever, up to the windowless 
chamber where, at least, I had the advantage 
of fresh air. Spreading a large blanket shawl preparations 
over the bed, with the resolve to leave it for the n[ghL 
behind me on my departure, so shocking 
was the unwashed linen, — enveloped in a 
waterproof, I sat myself up against the head- 
board for the night. When the disorderly 
sounds from the bar at last subsided, I began 
to find some comfort in the anticipation of 
having "black smallpox" in the hospital all 
by myself at least, without risk to those at 
home, and, as I watched the funereal old rag 
curtain in its solemn undulations, I even 
dozed ! 

This was one experience; now for the 
other. In a remote part of the West, my 
baggage having gone forward, I missed a Amissed 
connection one Saturday afternoon. I felt c 

vastly 



iy6 Yesterdays with Actors. 

vastly relieved, however, upon learning from 
the landlord of the hotel that a "mixed" train 
passed through the town at ten o'clock at 
night, upon which I could go twenty miles on 
a branch line. So, never heeding the black 
sky, with its lurid flashes and distant roll- 
ing thunder, the station was reached. The 
whistle of the engine gave warning of its 
approach; in an instant it was steaming 
before me, I was hurried into the train and 
in as brief a time as I am telling it, we 
moved off, out of the station into the awful 
storm — one other passenger and myself. 
; There are times when exclusiveness is a 
luxury, but we always experience a certain 
security in numbers and under the present 
circumstances I felt I would have infinitely 
preferred them to having this rough, desperate 
looking man my only companion. It was a 
relief when the conductor came in and talked 
to him, but a relief of short duration, for in 
a few moments the conductor came to me, and 
after some commonplace remarks about the 
storm, asked me where I should go when the 
cars reached their destination. To this I re- 
sponded quietly enough, "Oh! I shall go to a 
hotel and wait for the train." He laughingly 
replied: "That will give you some trouble, 
since the hotel is two miles off." "Then," I 

said, 



Travel in America. IJJ 

said, " I will sit in the waiting room." But in The hotel two 
this instance it appeared there was none. it milesoff - 
was only the smallest of way stations ; the vil- 
lage was two miles off and the old shelter for 
passengers and trains had been pulled down No waitin g 
within the last few days to put up a new room - 
building. "But cannot I take a carriage and 
drive somewhere ? " I inquired. In a very 
brusque manner I was told "no such thing 
as a passenger wanting a carriage stopped No carriage, 
over there — in fact, being Saturday night, 
no one except that gentleman is on the 
cars," and, picking up his lantern, he left me 
to my own frightened thoughts. 

The feelings of a young woman in this An u 
situation may be better imagined than ex 
pressed. Just as a few tears were silently 
blinding me — for it did seem as if my heart 
were too full for anything but a good cry — 
my fellow-passenger came from his seat and 
sat down by me. The tears froze to my 
cheeks and my heart beat until it seemed to 
me the man must hear it, see it ; my hands 
were rendered powerless, except to rise and 
fall with the strengthened palpitation, which 
was not lessened by the bad eyes looking 
into mine and the coarse voice saying : "I'll 
take care of you, so cheer up. There is one 
house near by and that's mine." 

This 



positio 



I J 8 Yesterdays with Actors. 

This was worse than the increasing storm, 
which, under any circumstances, would 
have sent the pale flag into my frightened 
face. However, I summoned courage to re- 
fuse his hospitality and, after making one or 
two endeavors to overcome, as he said, my 
"crazy scruples," he returned to his seat and 
Five dreary once again I began to think what would be- 
hours. come of me. The hours from twelve to five 

must be bridged over and I doubt if many 
an older and stouter heart would not have 
quailed, as mine did, at the black prospect. 
My odious companion, however, seemed 
silenced for a time. When the official came 
again into the car and after a short conver- 
sation announced that we were just there, 
I made one final appeal, Was there nothing 
he could do to help me? But, no; — The 
storm was awful and he and the one man on 
i must be left the engine had a long tramp to their homes ; 
there was nothing for me, but to sit in the 
car until morning. I caught at this and at 
the time I felt as if that were shelter and 
safety ; consequently, when the moment came 
for them to leave the train it was with a won- 
derful sensation of relief I began to make my 
plans for the night. The conductor asked 
me if there was anything he could do for me. 
I answered him " Nothing, only please leave 



Travel in America. Ijg 

me another light, as I want to read." He 

objected to this, saying "It is safest to put Light would be 

the light out altogether." The question arose, dangerous- 

" Why safest ? I could not sit in the dark — 

what danger ? " After some hesitation, the 

man replied : " It is a risky thing to sit 

here all night. There is no knowing who 

might be wandering around and seeing a girl 

alone — well, it isn't what I'd like for my 

women folk." His advice was, however, that 

I should put out the light and go to sleep 

quietly. But no ; his words had terrified me 

and, bring what it might, I would not be left 

in darkness. He pointed to a man with a 

lantern outside: "He's watchman here and 

if the storm holds up any way, he'll be round 

once an hour. I'll see if he can get the keys Locked in. 

and lock you in." After putting out the 

lamp and leaving his own lantern by my side, 

he murmured a good night, left me abruptly 

and, as he stepped off the platform, I heard 

him say : " It wouldn't surprise me to find 

that girl murdered before morning." 

As their steps died away, for the first time 
I realized the situation and that there was 
now no help for it — nothing to do but brave 
the danger and pray for Heaven's protection. 
Why had I not gone with them in spite of 
storm and distance ? I looked at my watch. 

Over 



apprehensions. 



1 80 Yesterdays with Actors. 

Four hours to Over four hours — four hours of solitude, 
endure. £ our i 10urs b e f or e the train arrives — four 

hours; did ever prospect appear so long? * * * 
The storm was over and the silence that 
Nervous followed was even worse, for the slightest 

movement of the car produced by the night 
wind, the rushing of the wind itself, neither 
of which would have been perceptible in 
broad day but at night, with this maddening 
sense of fear straining every nerve, the dull 
thumping of the heart, that like an unwound 
clock seemed to get slower and fainter until 
it must stop altogether; in this highly 
wrought fame of mind, these trifles were 
earthquakes and thunderbolts, and to faint or 
to die seemed all that was left. The power of 
speech had completely deserted me when the 
conductor's good night was spoken ; I only 
knew he had secured the doors. He and the 
engineer were gone and I was alone. * * * 
Surely I had sat an hour since. * * * I 
was trying to be patient and would prove my 
courage to myself, by not watching the time 
more than upon any other occasion and so I 
remained, not daring to peer into the dark- 
ness outside, fearful of turning to right or 
left and at last, having as I supposed 
proved my bravery as my watch should tes- 
tify, 



Travel in America. 181 

tify, — I cautiously raised the face to the light. A lon §: * 
Was it a dream ? It had not stopped, for the 
ticking- seemed as loud as a mill in full oper- 
ation; no, no, it had not stopped, but the 
hands had only moved five minutes ! 

I made a vain effort to read. But as I 
opened the book, the rustling of the leaves 
made my heart nutter in my throat. The Terror. 
word "Murdered" was written all over the 
page. With a convulsive cry, I dropped the 
volume and seized a little manual that I had 
put into my bag. I tried to kneel, but my 
limbs were cold and stiff ; I tried to pray, but 
my tongue seemed paralyzed and my eyes 
saw only blood in the drops of speechless 
agony that fell from my face upon the psalm. 
A feeling of faintness was creeping through sounds i 
my veins, when I heard the yelp of a dog in distance 
the distance and, as I listened, it seemed, 
too, the sound of a human voice. Who 
should it be but the watchman ? Perhaps 
some thief or tramp that the conductor had 
in mind who was to be found with a poor 
girl's murder on his soul before morning! 
With one last effort I extinguished the lamp. 
The storm was drifting away and I had just 
time to crouch down upon the floor, when a 
dog bounded over the platform. The car 

rocked 



1 82 Yesterdays with Actors. 

rming rocked upon its springs like a cradle. A face 
nion stopped at the window over my head and at 
that instant the moon sent one bright gleam 
through the quickly chasing clouds that 
enabled me to recognize my fellow-passenger! 
My torture was at its worst. I tried to hold back 
my breath and still the beating of my heart, 
as I watched the wicked face move from the 
window to the door, where I suppose the 
watchman's lantern was visible in the dis- 
tance ; which, together with the doubt as to 
my whereabouts, probably decided him, for, 
with a whistle to his dog, he passed from my 
sight and unconsciousness came to my relief. 
I awoke as from some frightful nightmare, 
uffering. to find myself in cold, pain and darkness. I 
have heard that under severe pressure the 
blessing of sleep will come whether we would 
or no ; but never was rest so completely ban- 
ished from my eyes, which remained per- 
sistently open, not only that night, but for 
twenty-four hours after. Nevertheless, time 
passed at last. Morning dawned, and with 
it fresh life and courage. For as soon as one 
streak appeared in the darkness, I shook off 
my terror and succeeded eventually in getting 
into the connecting train. 

In these few hours I had grown gray with 

fright. 



Travel in America. l8j 

fright. They are coming thick and fast now, 
I do not care to talk about them, but my 
first white hairs were laughingly plucked 
from their darker associates after my mem- 
orable journey of only a night. 



CHAPTER X. 

Canada and England. 



Canada, 
a foreign 
country. 



Some few words in conclusion of these 
reminiscences — about actors and acting, in 
England and Canada, may be worth setting 
down. 

While nothing is so dreary as journeying 
alone, I know of nothing more delightful 
than the results of travel, the re-creation of 
new scenes, fresh faces and strange tongues. 
Canada was always a delightful place to visit. 
No sea change could give one a more ab- 
solute contrast without the perils and dis- 
comforts of a voyage. My first trip thither 
was under the care of Mrs. John Buckland, 
when I was about sixteen years of age, to 
play in Montreal. My last, a happy halcyon 
month in fascinating far away Quebec, hospi- 
tably entertained by Consul Howells and his 
pleasant family. A wanderer in America 

finds 



Canada and England. l8§ 

finds many places, of course, with certain 
characteristics. Boston, it is needless to say, 
is very British and many of her men might 
walk down Regent street and pass for natives 
any day, while the infusion grows weaker as 
we go South and West and gradually fades 
into different types. But Canada is sur- 
prising for its abrupt variety and originality. 
Halifax is English, Toronto Scotch, Montreal 
polyglot and Ouebec French of the sixteenth Variety , of 

r ■' ° -* national types. 

century. While New England erects statues 
to those she burned two hundred years ago, 
while new theologies have shattered old 
dogmas, and the manners and morals of their 
descendants have come to be much like those 
from which the Puritans fled to New England ; 
only seventeen hours' journey away in the 
fertile valleys of the St. Lawrence the pea- 
sants dance in their sabots before the church Unchangeable 
door on Sunday after mass, the faithful make th a e "g t l ™^°_ 
pilgrimages to holy places and the shrine of rence. 
the good St. Anne is hung with the offerings 
of her grateful worshippers as of yore. The 
religious prejudices of the people have their 
effect upon the conduct of the stage. A 
priest might not be represented at one time 
without the risk of giving offence. In Mon- 
treal I was cautioned not to wear the orange orangesymbois 
satin gown I had chosen for my dress and in 

passing 



i86 



Yesterdays with Actors. 



The military 

patro: 

theati 



passing from one city to another the temper 
of different nationalities must be carefully 
consulted. The French element, where it pre- 
dominates, as everywhere, makes a delightful, 
sympathetic and discriminating audience, but 
the English military, when they were garri- 
soned in Canada, were the most valuable 
patrons of the theatre. The officers, for in- 
of the stance, in Montreal had private theatricals 
all the winter, under Mr. Buckland's manage- 
ment, which naturally placed them on the 
most friendly terms with him, so that in his * 
summer season they strolled into his box or 
his office and had the entree behind the 
scenes. Mr. E. A. Sot hern and Mr. Jacob 
Barrow in Halifax had the same pleasant re- 
lations with the military. At one time when 
I was in Montreal, both the famous Guards 
regiments had their quarters at St. Lawrence 
Hall, and half the mess were men of title. 

It was always with rejoicing I went to Her 
Majesty's dominions and with sincere regret 
that I came away. As a soldier's daughter^ 
grand-daughter, and niece, I never failed to 
find some acquaintance or comrade of my rela- 
tives who recognized the uncommon spelling 
of my name and met me with outstretched 
Military benefit hand - A benefit night under "patronage" 
night. was a pretty sight ; red coats in the pit, 

officers 



A soldier 
child. 



Canada and England. 18/ 

officers in the boxes ; English women look- 
ing as only English women do in full dress, 
and the band of the regiment massed in the 
orchestra. 

The Canadian theatres were generally Dingy cana- 
fusty places, in out-of-the-way streets. The dian theatres - 
"pit," what the word describes, a dark hole, 
with benches, mere boards without backs, 
and the cheapest part of the house. As air 
ascends, the arrangement is unfortunate for 
the rest of the audience, and the "gods" are 
far better elevated to the gallery, but the 
effect certainly heightened the brilliancy of 
the first tier. The season Mr. and Mrs. Bar- 
row went to Halifax I went with them for 
two weeks. In a note book of that summer 
I find, August 3, "Repeat Peg Woffmgton for 
Lord and Lady Mulgrave and Prince Alfred," Lord ana Lady 
the " Sailor Prince," whose ship was then in Mul ? rave - 
harbor. The next entry, under August 8 — 
" First played Faint Heart Never Won 
Fair Lady at the thea- 
tre, then went to sing 
the duet of ' Hear me, 
Norma,' \i\Xh.Mme. Anna 
Bishop at a concert." I 
was paid for this what 
appears an extravagant 
sum, half of which was 

given 




Madame Anna 
Bishop. 



1 88 Yesterdays with Actors. 

Patronage of given to Mr. Barrow, which accounts for my 



Lady Mul- 



c Asylui 



being allowed to do it. Mme. Bishop was 
then over fifty, but her voice, though worn, 
was still remarkable. On Saturday, August 
10, I find "Benefit under patronage of Coun- 
tess of Mulgrave — band of the Sixty-second 
Regiment played for me." I copy this, since 
with it comes back the memory of a morn- 
ing visit to this same little lady who, free 
from manner, had the sweetest manners, and 
was, without question, one of the most sim- 
ple, cordial hospitable people I ever met. 
visit to the During this stay in Halifax I was asked by 

a friend to sing at the Lunatic Asylum. The 
director and his wife, Dr. and Mrs. Wolfe, 
received us, and, after a cordial greeting, I was 
requested to submit a choice of music to 
them, and we repaired to a long, narrow hall, 
where about two hundred apparently ordinary 
people were seated. As I passed up the 
room to the grand piano at the farther end, 
the only thing in the least unusual was a line 
of nurses flanked against the wall. Some of 
the ladies and gentlemen were brought up 
and introduced, but the various solicitations 
for favorite songs I evaded, unless indorsed 
by an urgent word from Mrs. Wolfe. In 
this way the concert had nearly reached a 
prosperous conclusion, when a lady asked me 

to 



A concert in 
the Asylum. 



Canada and England. l8(/ 

to sing "Home, Sweet Home." She was " Home, sweet 
standing by the doctor, who seconded her h ° me '"^ causes 

° J a disturbance. 

request, and feeling it was wrong, but also, 
as Mrs. Wolfe probably did, that it was diffi- 
cult to assume forgetfulness of either words 
or music, I began my ballad, but before I 
had concluded one verse it came to a woful 
end. One wail from the back of the room 
seemed to arouse the demon of madness in 
the whole two hundred, and before my hands 
were off the keys, the air was rent with 
shrill cries, and the scene was like the strug- 
gle of a battle field — the solemn line of nurses, 
by force of arms, carried the day, and the 
patients were gradually taken from our sight. 
This separated us for a time from host and 
hostess, and we were left to wander through wandering 
the corridors, where we met more than one corridors. 16 
figure representing a sadder state of insanity 
than those in the hall. One poor soul, 
watching from a door, seized me by the.sb.oul 
der with a chilling clutch, and thrust a large 
package of scrawled newspapers under my 
mantle. I turned, to find a woman of perhaps 
fifty-five years of age, well dressed, wearing a 
cap of black lace, who spoke in an educated 
tone, as she besought me to put those papers 
into the Queen's hands. "Don't trust to Jj^" to the 
any One ; they will only deceive you as they 

have 



I go Yesterdays with Actors. 

have me. Let the Queen know the truth." 
"Oh," she said, "don't fear me; I am not 
mad. Those papers will tell you who I am, 
and all my history. I will reward you if money 
can do it ; you and your brother there shall 
have ^5000 apiece — anything, only get me 
out of this place." Dr. Wolfe came up, and 
after pressing refreshments upon us, we left in 
a boat he had prepared for our return. Four 
Rowed by mad- men rowed us across the bay. On the way 
men> our host spoke of my papers and told us it 

was that patient's custom, if not supplied with 
sufficient writing material, to amuse herself 
by scribbling on the margins of newspapers 
or anything else she could find. It was so 
greasy and disagreeable a bundle, he begged 
me to let him throw it overboard, but I said 
no,. I would keep it as a souvenir. He laugh- 
ingly added, under his breath, "They all have 
hobbies which we try to humor, for many are 
as harmless as these poor fellows." We were 
just landing when the discovery was thus 
made that the boatmen were all four lunatics ! 
Giadtobesafe Under the circumstances I was thankful to 
home. g et h ome B U f- the impression of my visit to 

the Halifax asylum was deepened when I re- 
lated my experiences to my landlady, a 
gentlewoman well acquainted with the affairs 
of the town. She recognized in the scraps of 

writing 



Canada and England. igi 

writing I had brought away as a petition to 

Queen Victoria the story of a lady, doubtless 

now insane, but who had been unjustly treated a story of un- 

and deprived of her property by grasping rela- kin ness ' 

tires. Poor soul, perhaps the little ray of 

hope with which she confided her case to me 

was a comfort in her dreary imprisonment, 

worth the burden it left on my heart for many 

days! 

I never even saw the inside of a London My appearance 
theatre untill my return to England, when I in London - 
appeared at the Princess's in 1868. This fam- 
ous house still enjoyed the favor won for it 
years before by the elaborate revivals of Mr. 
Charles Kean, but like all the English thea- 
tres, the auditorium seemed dingy and shabby 
beside those of America, fully compensated 
however by the more brilliant appearance of 
the audience. While I was in London, by the 
by, one of those checks occurred to the ex- 
treme of ladies' evening attire, which illustrates 
the social power of the queen in manners and 
morals. A personal rebuke was conveyed reg^lorTof 
by Her Majesty to a lady at a drawing room dress - 
for her style of dress. The very next night 
every neck was covered with tulle in the 
boxes of theatre and opera, and this continued 
the fashion for the season. 

I had little leisure to see my fellow actors 



ig2 



Yesterdays with Actors. 



Mr. Grieve's 

beautiful 
scenery. 



The Shoreditch 
Theatre. 



in London, for my engagement there was im- 
mediately followed by a tour in the provinces, 
but I saw Fechter at the Adelphi, then in his 
prime, the special protege of Charles Dickens 
and the favorite of the town. The scenery, 
by Mr. Grieve, was most beautiful. Certainly 
in those days nothing in America equalled the 
perfection of the London stage. Applause 
is as freely given to the successes of the 
painter as the actor, and I was very much 
surprised to see a gentleman appear in full 
evening dress, after a burst of enthusiasm, and 
bow recognition. He was the scenic artist 
and was duly on hand for the first nights of 
the pieces. 

Madge Robertson, now Mrs. Kendal, whose 
recent defence of the stage could have no 
more worthy author, was playing with Mf. 
Sothern at the Haymarket. It was only in a 
little part, but I recall the fresh, natural earn- 
estness of her style, which indicated those 
qualities which have made her the most 
popular actress on the London boards. 

The handsomest theatre I saw was an East 
End house called the New National Standard, 
Shoreditch, built after the model of La Scala, 
elegantly fitted up, brilliantly lighted, and the 
best for sight and sound in the city. It was 
essentially a Bowery theatre as regards its lo- 
cation, 



Canada and England. igj 

cation, but with the location all resemblance 
to a second-class theatre ended. Of course, 
the patrons were neither elegant nor distin- 
guished, but a more appreciative, critical, 
generous audience was never assembled within 
the walls of Drury Lane. The performance Excellent P ia : 
was deserving of all the attention and applause ^ d at the Eas 
bestowed upon it. Mr. Creswick appeared in 
the first piece, supported by an excellent com- 
pany. Mr. and Mrs. Henri Drayton wound 
up the performance. The lady, though a true 
artist, had only a small flute-like voice, and it 
was certainly most astonishing to hear an 
East End gallery listening breathlessly to a 
little operetta sung in true drawing room 
style. The prices of the West End were too 
high for the people to patronize, therefore 
Webster and his company, Buckstone and his 
company, Sims Reeves — in fact all the great 
artists in London — visited the Standard and 
gave by turns the best performances at East 
End prices, with mutual profit to audience 
and actor. 

Engagements to play in Manchester, Liver- Provincial en- 
pool, Glasgow, Weymouth and Exeter f 1- s a s ements - 
lowed my London appearance, and, of course, 
involved considerable experience of British 
railways. What a contrast in their methods 

_ . . Railway trave 

to those of America ! To get into a carriage j n England. 

at 



Danger of 
leaving the 



IQ4 Yesterdays with Actors. 

at all, is often for men a matter of blows and 
elbows, and women are not unfrequently left 
standing on the platform for the next train. 
When you do get in, as a stranger to the 
stations, where are you to get out ? No 
tickets are collected until you are off the 
train, and your neighbors either do not know 
themselves or, more likely, are too gruff to 
answer. Only at each stopping place the 
guard rushes to and fro in the noise and 
bustle, crying something in the unrecogniza- 
ble manner of his class in all countries. 
Even a glass of water is only to be obtained 
by leaving the train, which includes the risk 
of not getting on again. Having occasion 
to do this once, I took the precaution of 
looking at the number of my carriage, — fifty- 
seven. As I was pitying a poor hatless fellow, 
who had seized a guard by the shoulder with a 
"Where's my wife?" I heard a plaintive 
voice in my ear saying: "Please will you 
show me fifty-seven ? " On looking in the di- 
rection of the voice, I found one of a pair of 
interesting girls who had shared this mys- 
terious number with me, standing with a glass 
of water in her hand. The train at this mo- 
ment seemed about to start. No guard in 
sight to question ; the little maid herself look- 
ed faint. I seized her with one hand, the glass 

of 



Canada and England. IQ$ 

of water with the other, spied fifty-six, and the Thewrongcar- 
door of the next carriage standing open, in I "age- 
jumped, to find it was number eleven, occu- 
pied by two severely prim and astonished- 
looking old ladies, who immediately began 
calling, " Guard!" I too was in despair, having 
left my satchel in the other carriage. The girl 
began to cry for her sister, saying: "Oh! 
she will think I am left behind." So out 
once more on to the platform, spilling the 
water over one of the old ladies, who, in 
louder and more indignant tones, again called 
"Guard." I seconded her appeal, for it was Guard missing, 
evident that the numbers of the carriages, 
like the people, ran in every direction but 
the right. The by-standers joined in the hue 
and cry, and the guard finally arrived, found 
the carriage, which had been switched to 
another part of the train in our absence, 
pushed us in, united us respectively to lost 
bag and anxious sister, and banged the doors 
with an "all right,"as the train moved off . Not all right at 
But it was not all right, for a poor woman, last - 
who brought to my mind the typical Mrs. 
Brown, rushed to the guard as we left the 
station, screaming at the top of her voice : 
"Stop it — where's twenty-two — I can't find 
it ; and there's my bird cage and my band- 
box inside!" 

The 



IQ6 Yesterdays with Actors 

Provincial thea- The provincial theatres of Great Britain 

tr2S - furnish no interesting points of description. 

They are mirrors and reproductions, as far 

as their conditions will allow, of the great 

metropolis, and of the actors who played 

with me I had only the ordinary professional 

experience, but of the two or three actors 

upon the larger stage of life that I met in 

England, a word or two. 

Mr. Edward h. Mr. Edward H. House, my kind friend, the 

House. gentle critic, brilliant author, courteous man 

of the world, was at home in London as he 

was in New York when I first knew him, 

and has since been in Yokohama. He pre- 

Mr. Charles sented me to Mr. Charles Reade, whose 

Reade. story of Griffith Gaunt I had dramatized, 

and to whose advice and suggestions I 

became deeply indebted. I have spoken 

elsewhere, and shall never cease to speak, 

of the great heart and loyal nature which 

were associated in this remarkable man with 

many weaknesses, crudities and faults of tem- 

His simplicity, per, for I believe no man ever united large 

gifts of genius with such childish purity and 

lofty purpose. Somehow he read in me a 

frankness which he courted. While he had 

an almost morbid distrust of contemporaneous 

criticism, the very inability, to judge by the 

ordinary 



Canada and England. IQJ 

ordinary canons of taste seemed to inspire 
him with confidence in what he was pleased 
to call my intuitive judgment — the wisdom Mr. Reade 
as it were of babes and sucklings. He wa s seeks . frank 
never tired of asking me, "How does this 
strike you ? Is there not something the mat- 
ter with that ? " Never waiting to ask why or 
wherefore, but apparently delighted, however 
severe the stricture might be, to overcome 
my reluctance and get a simple instinctive 
opinion. Mr. Reade did me the great honor 
to suggest, what I was most absolutely 
obliged to decline, that I should prepare a 
sketch of his life from notes which he pro- 
posed to furnish me. It was a life illuminated a beautiful life. 
by filial affection, deepened by warm, faithful 
friendship and enlarged by the most generous 
enthusiasm for humanity. Better than other 
English writers of greater gifts, he has 
grasped the delicate and shifting shades of 
the female character, and while it exhausts 
the ingenuity even of Mrs. Jameson, to give 
shape and reality to Shakespeare's women, I 
have always felt in reading or acting from CharIes 
Charles Reade s creations, that my humble Reade ' s 
efforts were inspired by the only modern 
author who has guaged the strength and 
weakness of our sex. 

I 



ig8 



Yesterdays with Actors. 



Gustave Dore, 



George Pea- 



General recog 
ration of the 
philanthopist. 



I met Gustave Dore, who was one of the 
season's lions. A handsome, dreamy, Ger- 
man face, like Mr. Julius Eic/iberg's, but with 
a figure so grotesque and suggestive of one of 
the personages in his own Juif Errant that I 
spontaneously interposed myself between him 
and the mirror, in which his image was re- 
flected, with a fantastic notion that its oddity 
might offend his own eye. 

Another illustrious name on every lip was 
that of George Peabody, whose great gift had 
just been made to the poorer classes of London. 
I recall the puzzled air with which he told me 
he could not understand why people were so 
good to him. I saw afterward in a railway 
journey which I made in his company some- 
thing of the tribute which all England was 
paying to the generosity of the great Ameri- 
can. Every official touched his cap. British 
reserve gave way to cordial enthusiasm, the 
most comfortable seat was yielded to him. A 
white-headed old fellow asked for the honor 
of his hand, and the interest with which our 
companions listened to the simple story of his 
boyhood in his native Salem, and the hard- 
ships of his early days, dwelt on in contrast 
with the distinguished reception which the 

"good 



Canada and E?igland. igg 

" good Queen" had just given him, was akin 
to reverence. 

My tour in England was abruptly ended by My accident « 
an accident at Exeter. Mr. Belton, known in Exeter - 
this country during the first seasons of the 
Boston Theatre, was the managerthere, when I 
met with a severe fall. This fall was the cause 
of my return home, for, although my injuries 
were not so alarming as at first feared, the spine 
was struck and left me with a nervous affec- 
tion that will never be forgotten. I was play- 
ing Nobody's Daughter, a piece dramatized 
from Miss Braddon's novel by Chandos Ful- 
ton and Frederic Maeder, that I had played 
in New York and elsewhere. The staging of 
a bridge which I crossed was insecurely built, 
and in rushing hastily upon it the whole struc- An in< 
ture fell. I remember the sensation perfectly bndge * 
to-day. The curtain dropped at once. I 
was, after a brief examination, swathed 
tightly up and taken to my lodgings by the 
doctors, for although no broken bones had 
been discovered, they made sure there must 
be some internal injury. The first report An 
killed me outright, the second sent me dying cape ' 
to a hospital but the truth was, I only kept 
my bed a few days. 

While 



200 Yesterdays with Actors. 

Mistaken While I was gathering strength for the sea 

friends. voyage in the care of my relations I was 

beset with letters from a class of persons to 
whom these random memories might be 
a revelation ; for their only value is the 
testimony they bear to the purity, charity 
and honor of my profession, while these 
worthy people seemed to think the accident 
was a judgment upon my mode of life which 
should not fail to be improved ! Ladies 
called with tracts, and "Warnings to the 
Wicked " were mailed to me. One of the 
epistles I received ended : " Poor sinner, 
you have never thought before, take this time 
to repent !" I trust that this and all other 
lessons of pain and sorrow may not have been 
wasted, but I fear that no such chastisement 
will make me as patient and strong in faith, 
as many I have known, loved and respected 
behind the scenes of the theatre. 

In reading the recent memoirs of an actress, 
for whose distinguished talents I have a pro- 
found respect, I take a decided issue with 
the author, and feel a conspicuous defect, be- 
cause of the contemptuous tone to her fellow- 
actors and the failure to recognize their char- 
acteristic virtues. Saints and sinners there 
are behind, as before, the curtain, but the 

stage 



Noble charac- 
ters in the thea- 



Canada and England. 201 

stage in my day needed not to fear the 
truth. 

Venturing to paraphrase, as I have done The Truth, 
for my own, the happy title of Fields's charm- 
ing recollections of authors, I borrow another 
word of the large-hearted poet : — 

" ' Paint me as I am,' said Cromwell, 
' Rough with age and gashed with wars, 

Show my visage as you find it ; 
Less than truth my soul abhors.' " 



A GirVs Letters from the Far West. 




LETTERS FROM SURPRISE LAND 
BY E. G. H. 

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1887 



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